


The Ghost of Erebor

by ItalianHobbit



Series: Everybody Lives AU [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fíli Whump, Fíli and Kíli Brotherly Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kiliel mention, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, everybody lives au, not actually a Kiliel fic though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 22:11:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3266156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItalianHobbit/pseuds/ItalianHobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Battle of Five Armies, Fíli's life is saved at the last minute... but what happened before then, no one knows, and Fíli won't speak to anyone about it. In fact, Fíli won't speak at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silent

Kíli had grown up on tales of Erebor. Vast chambers of green marble, mountains of gold, tapestries in royal colors… all this had been part of his imagination as a child, and it had stayed with him, only growing even grander and more glorious in his mind as time went on. But even though he had had decades to imagine what he would see when he finally arrived, nothing could prepare him for the splendor of the Lonely Mountain.

It was truly a magnificent sight. Even shattered and worn by time and rancid with the stench of dragon, Erebor exceeded anything Kíli could have dreamed. It had not been long since the battle, but Kíli had already done quite a bit of exploring in his spare time; however, it seemed that Fíli was determined to catch up, and at the moment, the elder brother had much more time to spare. In fact, Kíli's current mission was to find where his brother had gone, a task appointed to him by his uncle.

Kíli rounded a corner into yet another corridor, looking behind himself nervously; he thought he remembered how many turns he had made, but Erebor was vast and somewhat complicated to navigate. For Fíli's sake, he hoped he would be able to remember how to get back to Thorin's chambers in as little time as possible.

"Fíli?" he called, marveling at the way his voice echoed through the halls, even though it was still quiet and raspy. Of course, there was no answer. Kíli sighed. He had  _thought_  he heard telltale signs of his brother down this way… Suddenly, as he rounded another corner, he came upon a wide, open balcony, overlooking a wrecked hall that shone dimly with golden light. It never ceased to amaze Kíli how Erebor seemed to glow from within, though many places had not been greeted with the light of a torch for over a hundred years. Silhouetted against that golden light was a stocky frame with hair that seemed to fit into the general display, carefully combed and braided. Kíli smiled, relieved that his search was over, and joined his brother leaning against the railing.

"You're not supposed to be moving around so much, you know," he said, pushing his voice to be cheerful. "You're going to exhaust yourself."

Fíli did not respond; in fact, he did not seem to register that Kíli had joined him at all, continuing to stare out at the glowing scene before him. Kíli's smile faded.

"Fíli," he said, raising his voice; he winced at the burn in his throat and quietly hemmed. His brother blinked rapidly, as if he were coming out of a dream, and turned his head, meeting Kíli's gaze briefly. He offered a small smile and turned his attention back to the room, his eyes regaining their previous distracted look. Kíli sighed.

"Uncle wants you up in his chambers," Kíli said. "Both of us. He has tasks to assign."

Still no answer from Fíli. He merely turned his head slightly and nodded, and the wriggling beast of irritation that had settled itself into Kíli's gut began to move. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "Please, Fíli, talk to me."

Fíli's eyes widened and his brow pulled apart in distress, and immediately Kíli cursed himself for his impulsive nature.  _Haven't you learned by now?_  he scolded himself.  _You're only making him feel worse about it._

"Sorry," he mumbled, casting his gaze downward.

Fíli let out a soft sigh and rested his chin on his arms, lost in the view before him. Kíli waited, impatience burning inside him; he drummed his fingers against the railing, pursing his lips. Finally, after a long minute, Fíli pushed on the railing, leaning heavily on his left leg as he reached for his crutches. Kíli scrambled to assist him, placing one in each of his brother's hands, and Fíli flashed him a grateful smile. Kíli bit his lip and nodded in return as the beast in his gut roared.  _You don't know what happened,_  he reminded himself.  _He will tell you when he can._

 _But what if he never does?_  his mind shot back. Kíli shook the thought out of his head, glancing at his brother hobbling along beside him. It had been little more than a week since the battle; they were  _all_  still healing. Some of them had suffered more than others. Kíli had gotten off lightly, though that was miracle. If Tauriel had not gotten there in time, he would be dead… but it was not time to think of her now. Kíli pushed her image out of his mind, though he had a flickering thought that she still had his runestone. He glanced at Fíli again; his brother was quiet, focused, but Kíli could see discomfort in his expression. His eyes drifted down to the lump of a plaster cast under Fíli's right trouser leg, and he winced, remembering the mangled look it had when Kíli had found him—but worse than that had been the expression on his brother's face. Kíli blinked rapidly and swallowed. He needed to think of anything else.

"At least the stench of dragon is lessening," he said lightly.

Fíli did not reply; he was focused on staying balanced.

"Although," Kíli continued, "the stench of a bunch of old Dwarves ripe from the Iron Hills isn't helping much. They smell like goat." He paused, but Fíli did not react. "Or maybe that's the way they smell naturally."

A huff sounded from Fíli then, and Kíli grinned. At least he could still make his brother laugh.

"Dáin isn't so bad, though, once you get used to him," he said. "Well, as long as he's not cross. Which is, admittedly, most of the time." He thought for a moment. "I take it back. He's worse than Uncle and Mister Dwalin combined. Dáin doesn't just  _smell_  like a goat. He  _is_  a goat."

Fíli began to laugh silently, his chest bouncing; encouraged by Fíli's reaction, Kíli carried on, "No, not a goat… a boar. Just like the one he rode in on. Did you  _see_  that thing? Maybe they're related."

Fíli stopped suddenly and leaned heavily on his crutches, shaking with silent laughter.

"A boar…" Kíli continued thoughtfully. "Boar-headed, maybe, but certainly not  _boring_. At least he's got that going for him. Uncle's speeches go on for ages. At least Dáin knows how to keep it short."

Fíli was shaking so hard with laughter by this point that he began to lose balance, and Kíli reached out quickly to steady him. He began to laugh as well, though his voice crackled; he stopped quickly to clear his throat. Fíli looked up at him, alarmed, but Kíli waved him off.

"I'm fine," he said, holding a hand over his throat to hide the bruising. "It's just sore."

Fíli's grin had already faded. His eyes drifted from Kíli's throat to the side of his face, and Kíli moved his hand to gingerly touch the gash that ran from his temple to his jaw. He forced a cheeky smile.

"It's going to scar, of course," he said, "but I think Thorin's will be better. Down the side of the face looks tough and all, but Thorin and Mister Dwalin will have matching scars, now. Right across his face…" He put on a pout. "I'll only look tough if you see me from the left side."

Fíli huffed again and looked down, shaking his head. Kíli could almost hear him:  _You're an idiot._  But Fíli did not speak. Instead, he started off again towards Thorin's chambers, the only sound he made the  _clack_  of his crutches hitting the marble floor. After a few moments of watching Fíli's back, Kíli moved to catch up. He prattled on for a little longer, saying nothing of consequence, but hoping that something— _anything_ —would prompt Fíli to reply, but the only voice that echoed through the halls was Kíli's. After several minutes, Kíli fell silent, discouraged; Fíli glanced at him, but still he said nothing.

They reached Thorin's chambers, and Kíli knocked lightly on the door.

"It's us, Uncle," he called.

"Come in," came Thorin's voice from the other side.

Kíli opened the door, holding it open so his brother could hobble his way inside; once Fíli was through, Kíli followed, closing the door behind him. Thorin sat in a chair by the fire, one hand resting on his ribs; his eyes turned to rest on Fíli and Kíli as they came in. He smiled at them affectionately and gestured to a chair across from him.

"Fíli, sit," he said. "You know you're not supposed to be moving around so much."

Fíli cast a confused glance at Kíli, but he did as he was asked; Kíli took his crutches, leaned them up against the wall, and stood beside his brother's chair.

"Kíli, you can sit if you'd like, too," said Thorin. He turned to look behind him at his bed, wincing as he twisted his torso. "On the bed, or I can call for another chair—"

"I'm fine," Kíli said, smiling. "I didn't get myself quite as banged up as you two did. I can stand."

Thorin smiled sheepishly, but Fíli bowed his head and sighed. Kíli rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, and Thorin focused his attention on his elder nephew.

"How are you doing, Fíli?" he said.

Fíli stared at Thorin with a furrowed brow, frowning.

"I thought you had tasks to assign us," Kíli said.

Thorin shook his head, still looking at Fíli. "I knew you'd both come if I implied it," he said. "Fíli, will you not speak to me?"

Fíli's eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open wordlessly. Kíli squeezed his shoulder again, and Fíli bit his lip and looked down, taking a few steadying breaths. Thorin looked on with sad eyes.

"Fíli," Thorin said again. He spoke slowly and gently. "You know that you are safe here, right? You have no reason to fear. No one is going to harm you in any way anymore."

"You can talk to us," Kíli added. "We can help you if we know what happened."

Suddenly, Fíli stood up, wobbling dangerously as he avoided putting pressure on his broken leg. Kíli dove to his brother's rescue, pulling one of Fíli's arms behind his neck and steadying him with an arm around his waist. Fíli leaned towards his crutches against the wall desperately, pulling Kíli with him.

"Fíli, what are you doing?" Kíli exclaimed.

"Please, Fíli, sit back down," Thorin said, his hands gripping the sides of his chair, though he did not rise. "You don't need to run."

Still Fíli did not give up. He reached again for his crutches, breathing hard out of his nose and clenching his teeth; Kíli looked to Thorin helplessly, and his uncle's gaze flickered between him and Fíli. After a moment's consideration, he nodded to Kíli and mouthed  _let him go_. Kíli sighed and allowed Fíli to pull him towards the crutches, and Fíli snatched them up and fitted them under his arms. Immediately he started towards the door, which Kíli ran to open for him. Fíli hobbled out by himself, and Kíli did not follow; instead, he shut the door after his brother and rested his forehead against it, closing his eyes tightly.

"Kíli."

Kíli pressed his temples harder into the cold stone.

"Kíli, don't you start, now, too."

With a deep sigh, Kíli pushed himself off the door and turned to face his uncle forlornly.

"I don't know how to help him," he said. "He won't speak, and if I bring up the fact that he won't speak, he just gives me this… panicked look. Or he does  _this_." He gestured towards the door.

"I know," said Thorin gravely. "Come sit with me, lad."

Kíli wrinkled his nose at the word  _lad_ —he had been through enough in the past year to be free of such endearments—but he came back to the fire and sat in the seat Fíli had just vacated. Thorin looked him over, the light of the fire glinting in his deep blue eyes.

"And how are  _you_  doing?" he said. "We haven't had a real chance to speak."

Kíli shrugged. "I'm fine."

"You almost died, Kíli."

Kíli grinned cheekily. " _Almost_  being the operative word."

Thorin frowned, his gaze drifting from the gash on Kíli's face to the bruising on his throat. "Are you sure you're all right?" he said. "No sudden fears, no nightmares…?"

Kíli shook his head. He could see where Thorin was going with this, but he really  _was_  fine. He'd been shaken up, of course, after being suddenly come upon by a huge, hideous orc, whose head had been held together by pieces of iron; he hadn't particularly enjoyed being pinned with a hand against his throat, but Tauriel had suddenly been there, and they had cut the orc down together. The slice he'd received on his face was a mere trifle when he considered that the blade had been intended to go through his chest. He would have stayed to thank her, but  _Fíli_ —

"I had a quick escape," he said. "Everything happened so fast… but really, I'm fine. I wasn't even thinking of myself. I was thinking of Fíli."

Thorin smiled. "One of you is always thinking about the other, it seems," he said.

"Well, you saw him," Kíli said. "Better than I could." He closed his eyes and bowed his head. "If I had just  _stayed_  with him… he told me he had it. I thought he would be fine."

"We didn't know there was an ambush waiting," Thorin said. "That is not your fault.  _I_  am the one who—" He stopped suddenly and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, his thumb gently rubbing against the gash on his face. "Well, whatever happened, we have to deal with it now."

"I wish I knew what they did to him," Kíli said bitterly. "If you had seen him, Uncle… when I finally got to him… I've never seen anyone look so terrified. It was… awful."

"Did he say anything to you then?" said Thorin. He started to lean forward, but he grimaced and sat back, resting a hand on his ribs.

Kíli shook his head. "I thought it was because he'd hit his head—that he was just dazed," he said. "I think he'd just come to when I found him. But he hasn't said a word since."

Thorin sighed and looked into the fire. "And Óin doesn't think he's lost the ability to speak… just the desire to."

"But how can we know that?" said Kíli. "He won't say a word—he won't even  _sign_  a word…"

"He's done this before," Thorin said, still staring into the flames.

Kíli blinked and furrowed his brow. He couldn't remember a single time in his life in which Fíli would not speak. Not in this way.

"When?" he said.

"After your father died," said Thorin. He turned his gaze back to Kíli. "He didn't speak for a quarter of a year after. It happens, sometimes. He was… he  _could_  speak, physically, but something was stopping him." He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "I thought it was something children did. But he is reacting the same way he did then."

"Why did he start again?" Kíli asked, leaning forward.

Thorin raised his eyebrows and shook his head, shrugging. "I don't rightly know," he said. "I wasn't the first person he spoke to. Your mum says he just started again one day."

Kíli leaned back again in his chair, disappointed. "Oh."

"Speaking of which," said Thorin, "I actually could use your help with something. Those in the Blue Mountains will need to know that the mountain has been reclaimed. See if you can get Fíli to help you in making an official message. Address it to your mother and send it by one of the younger ravens—they will certainly wish to be of assistance."

"Shouldn't you be the one to send the message?" Kíli asked, rising to his feet.

Thorin smiled ruefully. "Perhaps," he said. "But if the letter is in yours and Fíli's writing, she'll know you are safe."

Kíli nodded, twisting his lips. Yes, they were  _safe_ —but they were so changed, especially Fíli. Would he be speaking by the time their mother arrived?

"And Kíli," said Thorin. "I think we should let Fíli be for now. We pushed him, and he did not react well. Let him be silent for now, if he wishes. It has only been several days."

 _And every day that passes is another in which we don't know what happened to him._  Kíli nodded obediently. He let himself out, leaving his uncle in his chair, staring into the fire.

* * *

Fíli's door was closed. Kíli stood before it, hesitating. Should he knock? Was Fíli even there? He would not speak to tell Kíli to enter, and with his broken leg, it would be rude to assume that he would come to answer the door. Normally, he would just enter; the two of them had spent enough time together that privacy was not an issue. This new Fíli made him nervous, however; he did not yet know what would set him off. After a long minute of deliberation, he knocked loudly and waited a few moments.

"Fíli?" he called. "I'm coming in."

After a few more moments, Kíli pushed on the door, but it did not budge. Perplexed, he pushed again, but still the door did not move. A bolt of fear shot through Kíli's chest, but he attempted to push it away.  _He probably just wants time alone,_  he told himself. Still, the initial fear niggled in his gut, and he knocked harder on the door.

"Fíli, are you all right in there?" he said, louder than before. "The door is locked—I can't get in."

Still no answer from the other side of the door—not that Kíli was expecting it. Even so, the complete lack of response was making Kíli more than nervous, and he had half a mind to get someone to help him stave the door in. He could not remember a time in his life when he had ever been locked out of Fíli's room. He ran a hand through his hair. What was he supposed to do? On one hand, Fíli was probably fine, just sulking; on the other hand, he  _could_  be in there alone, having some kind of breakdown—

Suddenly, there was a  _click_ , and the door opened a crack.

Kíli let out a huge sigh of relief and pushed gently on the door. The crack widened, and he peered in timidly. Fíli was hobbling away from the door; he set his crutches down beside his bed, sat down on the mattress, and looked up at Kíli. As Kíli came closer, he saw that Fíli's eyes were rimmed with red, and guilt twisted in his gut. He swallowed.

"Hey," he said.

Fíli said nothing.

"Um," Kíli said, "I'm sorry. About earlier. I didn't mean to make you upset."

Fíli shrugged and looked off to the side, and Kíli bit his lip. That was probably about as close to forgiveness as he was going to get.

"Uncle wanted us to send a message to home—er, to Ered Luin," he said. He suddenly felt a twist of homesickness in his heart. It had not before occurred to him that  _this_  was supposed to be his home now, and he might never see Ered Luin again. But Erebor still felt empty. Too quiet. "He says if we write it, Mum will know that we're sa—that we're alive."

Fíli huffed and grinned, but the smile did not reach his eyes. Kíli shifted from one foot to the other.

"So, will you help me?" he said. "With writing the letter."

Fíli's eyes flickered back and forth as he considered; then he looked down at his broken leg.

"We can do it in here," Kíli said quickly. "I'll get something for us to write on—we can sit right on the bed. You don't even have to move."

At this, Fíli finally assented with a nod, and Kíli grinned. He pulled a paper out of Fíli's desk and grabbed the wooden tray he had used to bring Fíli meals for a few days after the battle, when he had been too dizzy to get up. Carefully, he balanced the inkwell and pen on top and settled beside his brother, who had pushed back on the bed to lean against the wall. He set the tray on his lap and twirled the pen in his hand, thinking.

"Dear Mum," he said. "We have reclaimed the smelly mountain."

Fíli snorted and shot Kíli a sideways glance, and Kíli grinned.

"Okay, maybe I shouldn't call it the smelly mountain," he said. "Although it is certainly that." He thought for a moment.  _Lonely Mountain_  was certainly fitting, but he kept that to himself. "Well, I suppose the first step is addressing it. To Mum or to all the Dwarves of Ered Luin?"

Fíli squinted for a moment and then took the tray off Kíli's lap; surprised, Kíli handed him the pen. The most he had expected from his brother was perhaps a signature. Fíli wrote  _To the esteemed Lady Dís, and the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains_. Kíli blinked, staring at the words on the page.

"You… so you  _can_  communicate?" he said, pulling his eyes from the paper to his brother's face. "You could write things down—until you can speak again—"

Fíli's eyes widened, and he shook his head vigorously. Kíli furrowed his brow.

"Why not?" he said. "You're doing just fine right now, Fíli. You—you could even write down what's bothering you—so we can help you!"

Fíli dropped the pen onto the wooden tray, shaking his head more slowly now. His expression was pulled into genuine distress, and Kíli's heart jumped.  _You're doing it again._

"Or not," he said. "Y-you don't have to. It's fine, Fíli. Forget I said anything."

Fíli dropped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. Kíli moved closer to him until their shoulders were touching, and Fíli did not move away. They sat quietly for a few moments, and then Fíli opened his eyes and took the wooden tray off his lap, setting it on Kíli's. Kíli pressed his lips together and nodded.  _You did this._  He picked up the pen and dipped it in the inkwell, thinking.

"You're better at this than me," he mumbled, pressing the end of the pen to his lips. He cast a surreptitious glance at his brother, but Fíli was staring out into nothing, seemingly unaware that Kíli had said anything. Kíli could feel his heart sinking. This was his brother's typical look these days, and he never gave any clue as to what he was thinking about.

"All right," he said quietly. "I'll just… write something, I guess."

Kíli had never been the best when it came to official duties. Fíli was the one who took these sorts of things seriously; he was the eldest and the heir, and their uncle had put much more pressure on him to make sure that he would one day be a great prince—and then king. Kíli had often been allowed to pass by with mediocre work. He had absorbed a great deal of information, of course—he wasn't hopeless—but the fact remained that if it was up to the two of them to deal with some kind of royal duty, Fíli would certainly be better at it. Kíli had a strong desire to ask Fíli to either tell him what to write or write the letter himself, but he had a feeling that he had just ruined his chances of getting Fíli to write anything anymore. He felt another surge of guilt rising. Everything he did in an attempt to help seemed to just make things worse.

"We send you greetings from Thorin II Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain," Kíli said, glancing at Fíli again. "What do you think? A good way to start?"

Fíli did not react. He was still staring out into space. Kíli cleared his throat.

"Fíli, I need your help," he said. "Can you stay with me here for just a little while?"

Finally, Fíli's gaze returned to the present, and he turned his head to look at the paper in Kíli's lap. He frowned and furrowed his brow, looking up at Kíli quizzically.

"I know, I haven't written anything," Kíli said, forcing down his burning frustration. "I'm asking for your help. You don't have to say anything. Just… let me know if what I'm putting down is good, somehow. I just need you to  _focus_  for a little bit. Please."

Fíli raised his eyebrows and nodded sheepishly; he pulled up his left knee and rested his elbow against it, supporting his head with his hand and looking down at the paper.

"So," Kíli said, "I'm thinking that I should start with salutations from Thorin. Just so they know he's alive and he's King now." Not that everyone was happy about that. Thranduil and Bard had settled into a grudging peace so far, especially since Bilbo had promised his portion of the treasure to them. Thranduil had returned the Arkenstone as a sign of good faith, and Thorin had returned the gesture by giving Thranduil the jeweled necklace he had desired for so long. The two had been exceedingly cordial to the each other ever since; Thorin had even offered the lower halls of Erebor to the elven soldiers as shelter from the wind and snow as they stayed to help with the wounded. It was an Elf that had given Fíli some kind of concoction to calm him so they could set his leg, as well, and Thorin had shown a remarkable amount of appreciation for his help. Grudging peace was better than icy hatred, Kíli supposed, but it didn't mean that everything was solved. Life was turning out to be more difficult than that.

Fíli nodded and tapped on the paper, and Kíli assumed he meant that it was good enough to start with. He wrote as neatly as he could, trying to match the straight, even lines of his brother's handwriting. His own was nowhere near as neat. He was too impatient for that.

They continued in this way for a while, Kíli making suggestions and Fíli approving them, and finally, they had a completed letter in hand. It was short, but contained all the necessary information, and Kíli was glad to be done. He signed his name at the bottom, and Fíli did the same.

"You're sure there's nothing else you'd like to add in your own hand?" Kíli said.

Fíli shook his head.

"All right, then," Kíli said, looking down at their work. "I'll send this off with a raven now. Thanks, Fíli."

Fíli offered his brother a wan smile, and Kíli picked up the tray and slid off the bed. He took a look back at Fíli; once again, his bright blue eyes were unfocused. Kíli licked his lips and left the room with his letter, heading for the passageway to outdoors.

A thought hit him then, and he stopped and turned, heading for his own room. He made his way to his own desk, pulled out another paper, and folded it carefully, ripping it along the lines he had just made. On the tiny scrap he had left, he scribbled another message:

_Mum, come as quickly as you can. Something is wrong with Fíli._


	2. Failing

"He's gettin' worse every day, Thorin," said Dwalin.

"I've noticed," Thorin said, resting his head in his hands. It was why they were having this meeting in his study. How could he not notice the rapid deterioration of his elder nephew's condition? He had been bad enough right after the battle, and things were only going from bad to worse. Dwalin rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Someone needs to talk to him," Balin added. "Perhaps we can make him come around…"

"We've already tried that," Kíli countered. "Any attempt to make him talk just makes him withdraw even more."

Thorin pulled his head out of his hands and looked up at Kíli across his desk, furrowing his brow. "I thought I told you to leave him alone," he said. "We agreed, Kíli."

Kíli ducked his head. "W-well, I did," he said. "I meant before that. Although there was one thing—when we were writing the letter to Ered Luin—he didn't seem to have a problem with writing things down…"

Thorin straightened in his chair, wincing as his cracked ribs creaked and cut off his breath. "Do you think he would tell us what is wrong if he could write it down?"

Kíli shook his head forlornly. "That's what I said, and he shut down immediately," he said. "Wouldn't write anything after that, save to sign his name."

Thorin slumped back down in his seat, resting a hand on his burning ribs. Was there to be no end to this torture? Fíli's terrified face as Azog held him aloft, taunting Thorin with his own nephew, flashed in his mind's eye. He closed his eyes as a wave of guilt crashed over him.  _He_  had sent Fíli into that tower.  _He_  had told his nephews to scout.  _He_  was responsible for sending Fíli into that trap, and now he was paying dearly for it. Azog was dead now, but he still seemed to be holding one last victory over Thorin's head.

"There's something he's afraid to tell us," said Kíli quietly. "I don't know what happened, but for some reason, he is determined to keep it to himself."

"And it's killing him," said Balin. Thorin opened his eyes and looked up at his old friend.

"And what do you suggest I do?" he said. He  _knew_  what Fíli's silence was doing to him; everyone did. It only took a glance to see the dark circles under the prince's eyes, his stooped shoulders, the ever-present thousand-yard stare. Often he disappeared for hours at a time, wandering the halls of Erebor alone, even though he had been told many times by Óin to  _keep still_  and  _rest_ ; not only did he have a broken leg, but he had suffered a severe concussion, as well. Thrice in the past two weeks, Kíli had had to escort his brother back to his room after the elder had nearly collapsed, exhausted from the over-exertion of hobbling around on his crutches. Thorin had half a mind to take the damned things away to force his nephew to stay still, but Fíli was determined to be useful in whatever way he could be without using his voice, and the more time he spent occupied, the less time he would have to think. Besides, he usually returned on his own.

Balin shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't have an answer to that," he said. "We just have to keep a close eye on him."

"That's what we've been  _doing_ ," Kíli said. "How does that solve anything?"

"Sometimes only time can solve these things, laddie," said Dwalin. "Something we all should remember."

Thorin nodded thoughtfully. He had been through plenty of battles and seen plenty of Dwarves go through post-battle stress, just like Fíli. The only difference was that this time, it was his own nephew that was affected. It was his own actions that had led to this.

"There is… one more thing," said Balin. "Dáin's men… they've been talking."

Thorin stared at Balin, his mouth pulling into a deep frown. "What do you mean?"

"Fíli's silence has not gone unnoticed," Balin said, grimacing. "Especially his tendency to stalk about the Mountain with nary a word. He's been startling people."

"Go on," Thorin said. He was well aware of this. He'd been startled several times himself when Fíli had suddenly appeared beside him.

"They've been calling him the Ghost of Erebor," Balin said hesitantly.

" _What?_ " Kíli shouted. "The—the  _insolence_! How could they speak that way about him?"

"Calm down, laddie," said Dwalin. "The whole mountain is going to hear you."

"As they  _should_!" Kíli said, losing none of his volume. "He is my  _brother_ , and he is the  _prince_  of this damned mountain! They have no right to say such things!"

"Mind your throat, Kíli," Thorin said.

"My throat is fine," Kíli snapped. "It's been two weeks."

Thorin sat quietly with his head bowed. He was just as offended as Kíli, but his nephew had already voiced his own thoughts. There was no need to reiterate them.

"Uncle, you have to do something about this!" Kíli said, his voice taking on a hint of desperation. "You can't let them talk about Fíli like that!"

"If any of you hear such a phrase again," Thorin said, "let the offending Dwarf know that such disrespectful language is unacceptable."

"Thank you," said Kíli, finally relaxing.

Thorin nodded. He surveyed the Dwarves surrounding him seriously, his gaze settling back on Kíli.

"Where is your brother now?" he said.

Kíli's shoulders dropped. "I don't know," he said. "I never know anymore."

"See if you can find him," said Thorin. "Send him to me, will you?"

Kíli sighed. Thorin knew he was tired of going on searches for his brother, but Kíli was in much better shape than he at the moment; though he was capable of moving, he still tried not to as much as possible. He had been told that he was lucky none of his broken ribs had punctured his lungs, and he did not wish to try his luck. He didn't seem to have much of it.

"Thank you, Kíli," he said.

Kíli rolled his eyes and bowed before seeing himself out. Thorin rested an elbow on his desk and dropped his forehead into his hand; Dwalin and Balin stared at him, waiting for commands of their own. He waved his other hand at them loosely.

"You are dismissed," he said.

Balin nodded and made his way out, and Dwalin stopped to squeeze his friend's shoulder before walking off without a word. Thorin rested his other elbow on the desk and closed his eyes, his head resting in both hands now.  _That_  meeting had solved nothing.

He was so tired… he had gotten plenty of rest, but it had not seemed to do him any good, what with all the work he still had to do. Luckily, his company and Dáin's men were willing to carry out tasks for him while he recovered, but the responsibility for it all weighed heavily on his shoulders. At least Thranduil and Bard appeased—seemingly. It was good enough for the time being. He had enough to worry about with his own people without worrying about another king— _two kings,_  he reminded himself—practically on his doorstep with a grudge to bear. And he had thought getting rid of the dragon would be the hardest part of all this… how naïve he had been.

At least his mind was clear now. Before the battle was a strange blur, filled with images of gold and memories of rage—wishing he could throw Bilbo right over the walls of Erebor, and being too consumed with counting gold to worry about the fate of his nephews. He cringed. How could he have been so foolish—so sick—so  _wrong_?

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, and he realized with a start that he must have dozed off at his desk. He could feel the burn of someone's gaze on him, and he looked up. Fíli stood before him, leaning on his crutches. Thorin jumped. How Fíli managed to be so quiet even with those things, he did not know.

"Fíli," he said. "Hello, lad."

Fíli stared at him. Thorin cleared his throat.

"I have a task for you," he said. "Ori is going through the old maps of the city from the library and documenting which halls have been destroyed by the dragon. Dáin's men will report to Ori, but I have heard that you have done a decent amount of exploring already. I would like you to help him mark down what Dáin's men discover, as well as adding your own knowledge."

Fíli opened his mouth as if to protest, but he snapped his jaw shut and nodded.

"And Fíli," Thorin said, "this doesn't mean that you should continue wandering off. You need to rest, my boy. Please take care of yourself."

A flurry of indecipherable thoughts passed through Fíli's shining blue eyes in a moment, and then he bowed his head; his golden hair fell forward, partially obscuring his face. Thorin pulled himself out of his chair, clenching his teeth as his torso protested, and walked around the desk, stopping in front of Fíli. He gently rested his hands over his nephew's hair and bent his head down, touching their temples together. Fíli's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. He pressed his head against his uncle's and took a hitched breath. Thorin thought hard, searching for the right words of comfort.

"Whatever happened, it is over now," he said. "You are going to be all right." He strove for something else to say, but nothing came to him, so he stood in silence, waiting for Fíli to respond in some way. Fíli nodded his head and took a heavy breath. Thorin pulled back, pulling Fíli's head up until their eyes met. A storm of emotions raged in Fíli's shadowed gaze— _torment_. That was what Thorin saw. It rent his heart, and he wished more than anything that Fíli would simply tell him what was wrong. But he had to give him time.

"Go and find Ori," he said, relinquishing his hold on Fíli. "Take it slowly, please."

Fíli nodded once again and turned to go, his crutches moving silently across the marble floor. Thorin watched him go, feeling an ache in his heart. Fíli was a strong lad. He would recover—of course he would. He had to.

* * *

"You would think they would be happy with what they have already received," Thorin grumbled, staring at the papers on his desk. Trade agreements. It had been a long time since he had had to draft such things.

"Aye, but we need food for the Mountain," said Balin. "We can't grow it underground."

"I know," Thorin said with a sigh. He shouldn't be begrudging the spending of gold, anyway. Not after everything that had happened. "I'm just tired of looking at this. I feel like I'm being tutored by your father again."

Balin chuckled. "You were nearly as impatient as Kíli with your lessons," he said. "I remember that much."

Thorin looked up at his old friend with a fiendish grin. "And I learned a few good tricks to distract him, too."

Balin's eyes grew wide, and he made an affronted noise. "Are you saying you taught Kíli to do the same?" he said indignantly.

Thorin's grin grew wider as Balin's frown grew deeper until he could not help but laugh. He most certainly had taught his nephew a few tricks, if only to get back at Balin for being the better student and making him look bad for years when they were young. Balin's mouth opened and closed as he stared at his friend in shock, and Thorin could only laugh harder.

Suddenly, a voice came loudly from the hall.

"Thorin! Thorin!"

Thorin looked up as Ori burst unceremoniously into his study. Balin straightened next to him.

"Ori, what on earth is the matter?" Balin said.

"It's Fíli," Ori said, breathing hard. "H-he just fainted—I got Óin already, but I thought I should get you too—"

"Where is he now?" Thorin demanded. He was already on his feet, ribs be damned. This was the  _fourth_  time in two weeks… he had thought that keeping Fíli occupied with Ori for several days would keep him still, but it appeared that his plan had not worked.

"I'm not sure," said Ori breathlessly. "I—I didn't want to give Dáin's men more reason to talk, and Bifur and Bofur were already in the library… I don't know if he's come to… if they would bring him somewhere else…"

Thorin walked as quickly as he could to the exit of his study and rested a hand on Ori's shoulder.

"Good thinking, Ori," he said distractedly, thinking. "Go back down to the library and tell them to escort Fíli to his chambers. Have them bring him through low-traffic areas—we don't need gawkers. Have you seen Kíli?"

Ori shook his head. "Last I saw him was this morning at breakfast… I think he mentioned spending the day outdoors."

Thorin grimaced. Of course Kíli would choose today of all days to get some fresh air. "Well, get to the library, anyway," he said. "If they're not already on their way up to Fíli's chambers, send them that way. I will meet you there."

Ori nodded and dashed off again, and Thorin looked to Balin. The old dwarf's lips were pursed, and he was shaking his head.

"He should only be resting," Balin said. "He's exerting himself too much."

"But if he has nothing to do, he's going to drive himself mad," Thorin replied, starting towards Fíli's chambers. Balin followed. "You know how he is. He dwells on every detail of things that go wrong. He worries too much."

"Aye," said Balin thoughtfully. "It's a difficult balance. Maybe he needs more than what we are currently giving him."

"He  _clearly_  needs more than what we are currently giving him," said Thorin, opening the door to Fíli's chambers and stepping inside. "I feel as if we are failing him. He is still getting worse."

"And Dáin's men are noticing," Balin said in a low voice. "Thorin, he can't keep on like this forever. They're already calling him a ghost—it's only a matter of time before they start wondering if he's truly fit to be heir."

Thorin rubbed his forehead wearily. He had been trying not to think of that. "I know. I'm well aware, Balin. I…" He drew his hand down his face, feeling the bump of the still-healing gash under his palm. "But he's a strong lad. He always has been. He can get through this."

Balin didn't answer, and Thorin closed his eyes and sighed. This whole situation was a mess. Regret coursed through him as he considered the events that had led to this moment. Every single one of them had been his own doing. He had done this to his nephew, and now he was paying dearly for it. He wondered if his sister would forgive him if Fíli never recovered. He knew he would never forgive himself.

They waited in silence for several minutes. Thorin took a seat in an old chair, grunting as his torso burned, and Balin stood at the doorway, peering left and right down the corridor. Thorin heard the sounds of people approaching before he saw them, and Balin backed into the room to allow space for the others. Bofur and Bifur came in carrying a litter, on which lay Fíli, his eyes closed and one hand on his forehead. Thorin furrowed his brow and stood to his feet, once again ignoring his ribs.

"Why is he—"

"He's all right," Bofur interrupted, glancing up at Thorin. "Well, you know what I mean. This was easier than making him walk all the way up here, what with his leg and all…"

"He could barely walk, anyway," said Óin, taking up the rear of the group with Ori. Balin shut the door behind them. "Get him onto the bed."

Bofur and Bifur lowered the litter onto the bed, and before anyone could help, Fíli pulled himself off it and rested his head on the pillow, facing the wall. Thorin glanced at Óin, and the grey Dwarf stepped forward and sat on the bed beside his patient. Bofur and Bifur stepped out of the way.

"Fíli, turn and look at me," he said. Fíli slowly rolled onto his back and looked up at the apothecary with shadowed, heavily lidded eyes. Óin frowned, and when he spoke again, his tone was softer. "You're doing too much, lad. You need to lie still and rest. I've been telling you that for two and a half weeks."

Fíli's brow furrowed, and he closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. Thorin looked back and forth between his nephew and his cousin and stepped closer to the bed.

"Why not, Fíli?" he said. "Why will you not rest?"

Fíli's opened his eyes and settled his tortured gaze on Thorin, and his lower lip began to tremble. He shook his head again and looked away.

Thorin pressed his lips together, fighting the frustration that warred inside him. If Fíli would just  _speak_ , they could help him, but that was not an option—and Kíli, the one Dwarf who could practically read Fíli's mind, was nowhere to be found. He thought hard on Fíli's non-verbal cues. Maybe it wasn't that Fíli  _wouldn't_  sleep, but that he  _couldn't_. It was a reasonable explanation. He had been kept awake many times by his own thoughts, some of those times in the very recent past.

"Perhaps a sleeping draught would help him rest," he said, addressing Óin.

Fíli reacted strongly to that. Immediately his eyes widened, and he began to shake his head furiously. His lips parted, but the only sound that came out was a heavy, tearful breath. Thorin furrowed his brow.

"Fíli, what is the matter?" he said.

"You must rest," Óin added. "You cannot continue in this way. If a sleeping draught will help you sleep, you should take it."

Fíli had not stopped shaking his head. He pressed his hands into the mattress and pulled himself up, but Óin pushed him back down, and he whimpered. One of his hands came up, and to Thorin's great surprise, he signed a word.  _Please._

"Why?" said Thorin. "Fíli, just tell us why."

Fíli shook his head.  _Please,_  he signed again.  _No._

"He's addled," Óin muttered.

"He's communicating," Thorin replied, staring at his distressed nephew in awe.

"He needs sleep," said Óin, turning to Thorin. "Desperately. It's why he keeps fainting. His head is still recovering from the blow he received in the battle. I say we put him out anyway."

Thorin wanted to agree, but the look in Fíli's eyes made him nervous. He wished his nephew would tell him what was wrong, but even the two signs he had just seen had only been made out of pure desperation. He did not expect more. But still… He came forward and lowered himself, grimacing, until he was sitting on the bed. Fíli pulled himself back frantically until his back touched the wall, shaking his head again, but Thorin crawled further onto the bed and knelt beside him. Tears streamed down Fíli's face as his wide eyes shifted from Thorin to Óin to the other Dwarves, who all still silently occupied the room. Thorin followed his gaze.

"Anyone who does not need to be here should leave," he said. "That means everyone except for Óin."

Balin, Bifur, Bofur, and Ori all silently left the room with drawn faces, bowing on their way out. Once the door closed, Thorin turned back to Fíli.

"Fíli, whatever is ailing you is only going to get better with rest," he said. "Let us give you something that will put you to sleep. You cannot go around the Mountain collapsing. Others are going to talk. You know that."

Fíli merely signed  _no_  again. Thorin sighed and looked at Óin, who beckoned him over. Thorin slid off the bed with a wince and faced Óin with his back to his nephew.

 _We should give him a sleeping draught anyway,_  Óin signed, taking care to keep his hands hidden from Fíli.  _He cannot refuse to sleep forever._

 _How are you going to do that?_  Thorin signed back. It was true—Fíli desperately needed sleep. Half a moment's glance could tell anyone that. But if Fíli refused to be put out for whatever reason…

 _You hold him still and I will make him take it,_  signed Óin.

Thorin's heart sank into his stomach, and he looked back at Fíli, who had curled himself up in the corner of his bed.  _Make him take it._  At least Fíli would get some much-needed sleep… he turned back to Óin and nodded, and Óin pulled his satchel off his shoulder and began to dig inside. Thorin crawled back onto the bed and reached out with both hands.

"Fíli, lad, it's all right," he said. He took Fíli's shoulders and pulled him into an embrace, and Fíli pressed his face into Thorin's shoulder. Guilt ravaged his heart.

"Just lie down, at least, all right?" he said softly, pulling Fíli away from him. "Lie down, lad." Obediently, Fíli lay down, taking in deep, shaky breaths; once his head was on the pillow, Thorin looked to Óin, who climbed up onto the bed with them, holding a spoon steadily. Fíli's eyes drifted to it, and his face melted into abject horror. Immediately Thorin pinned down his arms, and Fíli fought against his grip, pressing his lips together and shaking his head. Thorin clenched his teeth, desperately trying to ignore the jostling of his wounded ribs.

"Óin," he ground out.

But Fíli would not stay still. His feet pushed against the mattress and his back arched; he turned his head, keeping his lips pressed together. Óin, undaunted, reached forward and simply pinched Fíli's nose shut. Fíli struggled for a few moments more, but finally, his mouth opened as he gasped for air. Quickly, Óin turned Fíli's face towards him and slipped the spoon into his mouth. He held Fíli's jaw closed until the younger Dwarf swallowed reluctantly, fresh tears falling down his face. Then Óin pulled himself off the bed and nodded to Thorin, who let go of Fíli's arms and pulled his nephew's head into his chest. Fíli had stopped fighting now; he wept into Thorin's shirt, his body limp in surrender.

"I'm sorry, my lad," he said. "But it's for your own good. Sleep now."

Fíli shook his head, but the draught was already taking hold on him. The time between his breathy sobs became longer and longer until eventually they stopped completely, replaced by the even breathing of sleep. Thorin held him for a while longer; finally, he laid Fíli's head back down on the pillow and looked at him forlornly, brushing wet strands of hair off his face.

"Fíli, what in Mahal's name has made you so afraid?" he said.


	3. Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important note: "nonplussed" does NOT mean not bothered. It means "surprised and confused so much that they are unsure how to react." Look it up. You learned something today. Gold star. (I thought about using a different word where that comes up but I liked it too much and now you've gotten an education so there.)

The desolation of Smaug.

Kíli looked around at the pale dirt and the grey snow that surrounded Erebor with his heart in his throat. There were no trees, no grass, nothing living from here out to Dale in the distance; the Men had sought shelter in Dale, for the most part, and save for some who stayed to help with the wounded at Thranduil's command, the Elves had departed for their home. It was cold and it was empty. Though the bodies had been removed, Kíli felt as though he could hear the blood crying out to him from the ground. He stiffened and closed his eyes.

The desolation of the Battle of Five Armies.

A cold wind blew, and Kíli drew his cloak tighter around his body and closed his eyes. At least the air felt fresh—it was why he had come outside, after all. Even though he had grown up in the halls of the Blue Mountains, he had always enjoyed being out in the open, more than most Dwarves, and after eight months on the road, he was used to the sky above his head rather than a ceiling of stone. It was time to go back, however. He had been out all day, and though the sun was still in the sky, the air was getting colder. He was sure that someone must have been looking for him at some point during the day, but when he had set out in the morning, he hadn't cared. At least he had let Ori know where he was going. He did not regret taking a day to himself, even though he had responsibilities and Fíli still wasn't doing well. Responsibilities could wait a day—and Fíli had others around him. Kíli was not his only aid, and he had no desire to be. He pulled his gloves tighter over his fingers and looked towards the mountain, frowning.

When Kíli finally got to the main entrance, he was surprised to find Ori just inside, sitting by the wayside as if he had been waiting for someone. When he spotted Kíli, he jumped up, his face grave.

"Hello, Ori," Kíli said, his heart sinking. "What are you doing out here?"

"I was waiting for you," Ori replied. "It's about—"

"Fíli," Kíli finished. His heart dropped down into his toes. "What happened?"

"He fainted again today," said Ori. "He was crossing the library and he just… dropped. They brought him up to his room several hours ago… I think he's still there."

"Did anything else happen?" Kíli said, immediately taking off quickly down the corridor. Ori followed.

"I think they put him out with a sleeping draught," said Ori. "He—he didn't react well to the idea, though—"

"They did  _what_?" Kíli exclaimed, stopping and whirling suddenly on Ori. "Why would they do that if he didn't want them to?"

Ori raised his hands, startled. "I didn't do it, Kíli," he said. "I just went and got Óin and Thorin."

Kíli ground his teeth and looked back down the corridor. "You say he's still in his chambers?"

"I would imagine so. I haven't seen him."

Kíli nodded. "I'll see you later, Ori. Thank you for helping him."

"Of course," said Ori, but his voice was already back in the distance. Kíli was running through the long passageways to his brother's room. If they put Fíli out with a draught, he wouldn't be able to wake himself up from nightmares… as much as his brother needed sleep, it would do him no good if he was being plagued by horrible dreams. How could they not  _know_  that? How could they not  _see_?

Kíli made it to Fíli's room in record time and entered quietly, shutting the door behind him. Fíli was indeed still in bed, his covers pulled over his shoulders and the fire burning bright in the hearth. Someone had been making sure he was well taken care of, at least. He sat on the bed and looked his brother over with a furrowed brow. Fíli's eyes were roving beneath fluttering eyelids, and as Kíli looked closer, he saw how damp the pillow was beneath his brother's head. A tear rolled across the bridge of his nose. Kíli felt a jolt of alarm—Fíli was having a nightmare.

"Fíli," he said, taking hold of Fíli's shoulder and shaking. He prayed that the draught had worn off enough to allow his brother to wake. "Wake up." Fíli let out a low moan, and Kíli shook him harder, sending curses to his uncle and his cousin in his head.

"Fíli!" he cried. "Fíli, it's all right! Wake up!  _Fíli_!"

Finally, Fíli's eyes opened, and immediately his arms flew out, swatting Kíli's hand away. Kíli reached out frantically to take hold of Fíli's arms.

"It's just me!" he shouted. "Fíli! It's all right!"

Fíli's only reaction was to rip his arms out of Kíli's grip and pull himself back towards the wall, his breathing coming in panicked gasps and his broken leg dragging in front of him. Kíli came closer again, reaching out, but Fíli pressed both hands against Kíli's chest and pushed fiercely; confused, Kíli reached out once more, but Fíli kicked with his left foot, making contact with Kíli's gut. Kíli grunted in pain and slapped his hands over his stomach. He backed out of the reach of Fíli's legs, and Fíli curled himself up in the corner of the bed, holding his arms up defensively over his face.

Kíli stared at Fíli in horror as his brother sat pushed into the corner, gasping raggedly and protecting himself with two shaking arms. Why would Fíli fight against his own brother? What was he seeing?

 _He's not just afraid right now. He's afraid_ of you _. He doesn't know who you are._

"Fíli!" Kíli called, standing back. "Listen! Listen to my voice. It's me! It's just me. It's Kíli!"

Fíli suddenly paused. His arms came down first, and he stared at Kíli, wide-eyed. Kíli crawled back on the bed and knelt before his brother, reaching out slowly with one hand. Fíli flinched, but he did not fight.

"It's just me," Kíli repeated. "It's your Kíli. I won't hurt you."

Fíli blinked rapidly, and the wildness seemed to melt out of his eyes. Kíli brought himself a little bit closer, and Fíli reached forward and rested a shaking hand on his brother's face. His mouth formed the word  _Kíli_ , but no sound emerged.

"That's right," said Kíli slowly. "That's right. You're all right. It's just Kíli."

Fíli nodded, his hand still resting on Kíli's face; he dropped his head and closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. When his eyes opened again, they dropped to Kíli's chest, and his trembling hand followed, stopping over his brother's heart. Kíli stared at him for a moment, confused. Then, as his heart beat beneath his brother's palm, the meaning of his gesture dawned on him.

"You dreamt I was killed, didn't you?" Kíli said.

Fíli's lip quivered, and then a moment later, his face crumpled. Kíli immediately leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his brother, and Fíli buried his face in his shoulder and began to sob.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here to stop them," Kíli said. "I'm sorry, Fíli."

Fíli tightened his hold on his brother and wept, trembling. Kíli moved so that they were both sitting more comfortably, giving berth to Fíli's broken leg, though he did not relinquish his hold. He waited as Fíli's sobs quietened and his trembling slowed, his anger burning even stronger now at Thorin and Óin. If  _anyone_  should have known better, it should have been them. They  _should_  have known. He was itching to go give his uncle a piece of his mind, but he was not going to leave Fíli alone—not in this state. He had never seen Fíli react so badly to a nightmare in his life.

After a long while, Fíli finally relaxed and sat still, resting his forehead against Kíli's shoulder. They sat in silence for several minutes.

"I imagine you don't want to sleep anymore," Kíli said finally.

Fíli shook his head.

"All right," said Kíli, thinking. He needed to speak to Thorin, but he didn't want to leave Fíli alone, either. Who would put the least pressure on his brother to speak—who would Fíli feel safest with right now? His mind went through the list of his companions.  _Bifur._  Of all the people in their company, Bifur would surely understand if his brother did not want to speak. He pulled Fíli upright and looked into his red eyes. Fíli took a heavy breath.

"I'm going to go make sure Thorin and Óin know not to do that to you again, all right?" he said. "Stay here—I'll send Bifur to keep you company. That's all right with you, isn't it?"

Fíli considered this for a moment and then nodded. Kíli offered him a reassuring smile and patted the side of his face gently, and then he slid off the bed and headed for the door. As he departed, he took one last glance at his brother; Fíli had leaned his head against the wall and pulled up his knees, and his eyes stared out at nothing. Kíli sighed and left the room.

_They should have known._

* * *

Kíli knocked on the stone door to Thorin's study and waited, his jaw shifting. He had just left Fíli and Bifur in Fíli's chambers; when he had returned with Bifur, Fíli had been in the same position he had when Kíli had left, and the look on his face had not changed. Bifur had been able to gently pull Fíli out of his reverie—it amazed Kíli how mild the typically callous Dwarf could be—and handed him a block of wood and a knife. The two of them were now carving silently together, and Fíli had seemed happy to be preoccupied with a craft. But now it was time to confront Thorin about what he had done.

"Uncle, it's Kíli," he called.

"Come in," Thorin called from the other side.

Kíli pushed the door open and slipped inside, looking around the room. His uncle was alone—good. He could speak openly, then. He made his way across the room and stood before Thorin's desk; Thorin looked up from his papers and smiled warmly at his nephew. Irritation niggled at Kíli's insides.

"How was your day outdoors?" he said.

"Cold," Kíli replied.  _Dead._  "The fresh air was nice, though."

Thorin nodded, studying Kíli's face. He frowned. "You've seen Fíli, I presume. Is he awake?"

"Aye," Kíli said. "He's awake now. Bifur's with him."

Thorin furrowed his brow. "Why is Bifur with him?" he said.

 _Stay calm,_  Kíli told himself as flames of anger began to rekindle in his gut. "Because I didn't want to leave him alone," he said. "He was having a nightmare, and I had to wake him up. Uncle, how could you make him sleep like that?"

"He needed  _rest_ , Kíli," said Thorin, nonplussed. "He  _fainted_  in the library. He refused to sleep."

"Because he's afraid of nightmares!" Kíli countered. "How is sleeping going to help him if he's reliving whatever happened to him every time he closes his eyes?"

"Kíli, he  _needs_  to sleep," said Thorin. "He cannot refuse to do so forever. He had a severe concussion, and only rest will help him."

"But he's  _not_  resting!" Kíli said, stepping forward and setting his hands on Thorin's desk. "Uncle, if he's forced to stay under with a sleeping draught, he won't be able to wake himself if he's having a nightmare! He was crying in his sleep when I went in to see him. When I woke him up, he tried to fight me off—he didn't even know where he was or who I was! It took a  _long_  time to calm him down. Because of  _your_  decision—you and Óin! Ori told me that he didn't react well when you suggested it, and you did it anyway! You should have  _known_! How could you not know what that would do to him?"

Thorin looked up at Kíli, one hand sitting loosely over his mouth. "He tried to fight you off?"

Kíli nodded. "He didn't even realize it was me. I've never seen him like that. Except for—except for right after I found him."

Thorin closed his eyes and sighed. "I am sorry," he said. "I did not wish to hurt him."

Kíli nodded curtly. "So you won't do it again?"

Thorin opened his eyes and looked up at his nephew with an exasperated glare. "What other options do I have?" he said. "If you have an idea, please do let me know. Kíli, he needs  _sleep_. What if the next time he falls, he doesn't wake up again? Do you want that to happen?"

"Mahal's  _beard_ , Thorin!" Kíli cried.

Thorin's eyes widened. "Kíli!" he scolded. "Watch your language."

Kíli shot his uncle a furious look as the flames of anger licked up into his head. He didn't care about his language. "You aren't understanding what I am saying," he said. "Just  _listen_ —for once— _listen_. Fíli is having nightmares. He is  _afraid_  to sleep. He doesn't  _want_  to sleep. Could you not see that in his eyes—in the way he reacted? How could you betray his trust like that?"

"And what do you propose we do?" Thorin said, gaining volume. "Let him stay awake for as long as he can manage until he collapses again? It has been two and a half weeks, Kíli, and he has fainted  _four_  times. I cannot allow him to continue in this way. He has to rest, and if he refuses, well—we have to  _make_  him rest."

"Mahal's…  _It's not rest!_ " Kíli shouted. "You are making him  _worse_! You forced him to experience the horror of the battle with no escape once again—he  _trusted_  you, and you subjected him to what he is most afraid of!"

"What am I supposed to do?" Thorin shouted back. "Leave him to wither away? Allow him to—to…" He stopped and looked down, swallowing. When he spoke again, his voice wavered. "He's slipping away, Kíli. Every day a little more. I can't lose him like that. I will not."

Kíli stared at his uncle, tears suddenly stinging the corners of his eyes. He ran one hand over his face and through his hair; the hot anger inside him began to die, leaving him feeling cold and empty. For a long minute, neither one of them spoke. Thorin did not look up.

"What do we do?" Kíli said. "We have to do something."

Thorin cleared his throat. "He has to sleep," he said resolutely. "But he also has to  _rest_. I don't know how to…" He shook his head.

Suddenly, Kíli had a flash of inspiration. "The Elves," he said. "Uncle, maybe they have something that can stop nightmares. I could ask Tauriel—" Suddenly he stopped; his eyes widened, and heat rushed into his cheeks. Thorin didn't know about Tauriel.

Thorin looked up at Kíli sharply. "Who?"

"O-one of the Elves," Kíli said quickly. "I could ask the Elves if they have anything that could help…"

"Who is Tauriel?" Thorin demanded.

Kíli could feel his face getting even hotter. "She's just one of the Elves, the captain of Thranduil's guard—"

"She?" Thorin said, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes, she—I mean, she's a captain, but she's—I promise, Thorin, there's—I just know she could help, she helped me when my leg was infected, maybe she can help Fíli." He pressed his lips together and cleared his throat. His cheeks were burning, and he had half a mind to dash out the door to get away from the bemused look on his uncle's face.

Thorin studied Kíli critically for a long moment, and Kíli looked away desperately and bit his lip.  _Now you've done it._  Why,  _why_  had he grown an attachment for an Elf, of all people? Couldn't he have liked a nice Dwarf lady with a nice Dwarf beard?

"Go ask this… Tauriel… what she can do to help," Thorin said finally, releasing Kíli from his gaze. "If she has something that can stop nightmares, we need it, and now."

"Aye, sir," said Kíli weakly. He hastily bowed and whirled around to make his exit, practically running to the door.

"And Kíli?"

Kíli stopped, cringing.

"Just what she can do to help Fíli. And it is a favor for the King, not for you. Understood?"

"Aye," Kíli said, his voice cracking. He let himself out and ran away from Thorin's study as quickly as he could.

* * *

Kíli peered through the crowd of Elves that still occupied the lower levels of Erebor nervously. Though most of them had gone home, there was still a small number that had remained to help with those who were still wounded. Most Dwarves, Men, and Elves had recovered, either in full or in part, but still some lagged behind, keeping watch over those more seriously wounded or keeping company to their friends, it seemed. A few weeks ago, Kíli would have expected Thorin to kick them all out, but he seemed to be willing to tolerate their presence if they did not make a nuisance of themselves. Kíli had actually not seen any of them, save for when he had made his exit and re-entrance earlier that day, and he had purposely avoided their temporary quarters then—he had been avoiding all the Elves, really, since the battle. Well, not all of them. One of them. Fíli had not been pleased with his behavior around Tauriel, and he had known well before his blunder earlier that Thorin would be even less so. But now he needed her help.

"Excuse me," Kíli called out to a tall, brunet Elf passing by. "Have you seen Tauriel?" Suddenly he realized that he wasn't even sure Tauriel was still here.  _Of course she's still here._  She still had his runestone. She wouldn't say goodbye without giving it back.

"Yes," said the Elf in his strange elven lilt, eyeing Kíli curiously. "You must be Prince Kíli."

Kíli blinked. "Y-yes," he said. "How did you know?"

"Tauriel said you might come," the Elf said. "The tall one with the angry eyebrows and no beard." He looked Kíli over. "Sounds like you."

"I have a beard," Kíli grumbled, rubbing his stubble defensively. He thought suddenly that he could understand why his kin disliked these Elves so much. And  _angry eyebrows_? He didn't have _angry_  eyebrows—did he?

The Elf merely chuckled and pointed a bit behind him. "She was back there, last I saw her," he said.

"Th-thank you," Kíli said. He skirted around the Elf and headed in the direction he had pointed, searching for a sign of red hair; he spotted her speaking to another Elf in a somewhat lonely corner and hung back, waiting for their conversation to finish. When it did not appear to be ending quickly, he took a breath and stepped closer.

"Tauriel?" he said, looking up at the captain nervously. She broke from her conversation in Sindarin and looked around at eye level, furrowing her brow when she saw no one. Feeling quite small, Kíli cleared his throat and called her name again, and she looked down, smiling warmly when she saw him.

"Hello, Kíli," she said. She rested a hand on the shoulder of her companion and said something in Sindarin; the other Elf nodded and took her leave, and Tauriel looked back to Kíli, waiting for him to speak.

"I-I'm sorry I haven't come to see you," he said. "I know it's been two and a half weeks, but it's been trying, what with all the new responsibilities… and Fíli…"

"How is he?" Tauriel asked. "The last time I saw him…"

"He's… better. And worse. More worse than better, really," Kíli said. "I never thanked you, by the way, for helping me get him out of harm's way—thank you."

"It's all right," she said, frowning. "What do you mean, he's worse? Is his leg—"

"No, his leg is healing just fine, I think," Kíli said. "Though he's on it more than he should be. It's more…" He stopped and looked around at the other Elves. "Is there somewhere we can talk more privately? I don't want to discuss the Prince of Erebor's problems for everyone to hear."

"Of course," said Tauriel, looking around. "Where should we—"

"Follow me," Kíli said, grabbing her hand. Tauriel pulled her fingers away from his quickly, looking around with wide eyes, and Kíli frowned.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't think—but—er, just follow me. Please."

Tauriel nodded and followed Kíli quickly through the lower halls until they reached a small side room. They stepped inside, and Tauriel looked at Kíli expectantly.

"I need your help," Kíli said. "Fíli, he's not doing well. At all." Kíli shuffled his feet. "He won't speak—he hasn't said a word since the battle. He keeps fainting because he's exhausted and his head hasn't quite healed, and he won't sleep because he's afraid of nightmares. He's… he's crumbling away, Tauriel. I've never seen him like this."

"How can I help?" Tauriel said, her green eyes shining with concern.

Kíli smiled up at her fondly. He  _knew_  she would want to help. "Well, I know that Elves' medicine is better than that of the Dwarves," he said, resting a hand on his right leg. "My uncle and my cousin Óin tried to put Fíli out with a sleeping draught so he would at least be able to sleep, but they just made him worse, I think. I woke him up from a nightmare and he tried to fight me off. He's never done anything like that before."

"You need something to stop the nightmares," said Tauriel.

Kíli swallowed and nodded. "Aye—something so that he can rest."

Tauriel nodded and looked towards the door. "I am not the most skilled of my people when it comes to healing," she said, "but I know we have something that can help. I will ask."

Relief washed over Kíli, and he smiled broadly. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you for—for everything, really."

Tauriel smiled and nodded. "Follow me," she said. "I'll get you what you need for your brother." She stepped back out of the room, and Kíli followed, watching her red hair from behind. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch it. Soon they were back at the Elves' temporary quarters. Kíli stood awkwardly by the wayside, waiting keeping his gaze down; he could feel the eyes of some of the Elves on him, and he blushed to think that they may have seen he and Tauriel coming back together. After a few minutes, Tauriel returned to him, holding a jar filled with powder. Kíli looked at it and furrowed his brow.

"Powder?" he said.

"Mix a spoonful in water and have him drink it," she said. "That is what the healer told me. It will ease his sleep."

"It will stop the dreams?" Kíli said, taking the bottle.

"It isn't good to stop dreams completely," said Tauriel. "If you did not dream at night, you would start seeing things during the day, and that would be no better. No, it simply eases the mind during sleep. That is all."

"Oh," said Kíli, looking down at the bottle. Now he knew. "And if he wants to wake up…?"

"It only eases sleep—it does not cause it," Tauriel replied. "He will be able to awaken if he needs to."

"Good," Kíli muttered. He had no desire to repeat what happened earlier. "Is there anything else I should know about it?"

"Yes," Tauriel said. "If he is not about to go to sleep, he should not take it. It will make him disoriented and he will have difficulty controlling his movements."

"All right," said Kíli, suppressing the thought that it would be amusing to see his brother flopping around and putting the jar in his pocket.

"If you need anything else, you can ask Tathariel," she said, gesturing to the Elf she had been speaking to earlier. "She is a healer and knows better what can help your brother."

Kíli looked up at Tauriel, confused. "But I don't know her. I could just ask you, couldn't I?"

Tauriel smiled sadly and shook her head, and Kíli's heart sank. He had been fearing this. She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a little stone—Kíli's runestone—and pulled his empty hand towards her. She pressed the stone into his palm and folded his fingers over it gently. Kíli looked from his hand to Tauriel's eyes, frowning deeply.

"I am glad that you are safe," she said, "and I am glad that you came back to see me again. I wanted to give this back to you."

"I gave it to you as a promise," Kíli said. "That I would come back."

"And you did," said Tauriel, smiling. "Here you are. And now you must go back to your people, and I to mine."

"But—"

"Kíli," said Tauriel. Her hands were warm over his. "Did you really think that more would come of this?"

Kíli blinked. He had not been thinking that far ahead. "I-I mean, I suppose not, but…"

"I am going home soon," she said. "I don't know if I will see you again, but I am glad our paths crossed here, at least."

"Tauriel," Kíli said weakly. He tried to think of a protest, but he could not. Tauriel was right; nothing could come of whatever he had tried to initiate. Once again, he wondered why he had formed an attachment to an Elf, of all people. Tauriel pressed his hand holding the stone to his heart and let go. He sighed.

"Take care of your brother, Kíli—he needs you," she said. "Maybe we will see each other again."

Kíli swallowed and nodded. "Thank you, Tauriel. Thank you again for everything." Spurred by a sudden impulse, he took her hand and kissed it; Tauriel jumped, but she did not pull her hand away until Kíli released it. He looked up at her and grinned, and he couldn't help but wink as well. Tauriel brought a hand up to her mouth and suppressed a giggle.

"Goodbye, Tauriel," he said, bowing. "…Until next time."

"Goodbye, Kíli," she said.

Kíli glanced once more at the tall Elf before him before turning to leave. He hoped that he would see her again, but he knew in his heart that even if he did, nothing would come of it. It was better that way—for both of them. He knew that, but it still didn't make him feel any better. He slipped his runestone into his pocket and started on his way back.


	4. Trust

"Uncle?" Kíli called from outside the door to Thorin's study. "It's me again."

"Yes, come in," called Thorin from the other side, and Kíli pushed the door open and stepped inside. Óin stood by Thorin's desk, and he looked up and nodded in greeting as Kíli came closer; Kíli nodded back, though he felt a twinge of anger towards his cousin still. Óin had been the apothecary with all the answers for Fíli and Kíli as they grew up, and Kíli had never known him to have any failings when it came to treating either of them before now. He didn't like it at all.

"Did the Elves have anything to help?" Thorin said, straightening in his chair with a wince.

"Aye," Kíli replied. He reached into his pocket; his fingers touched the runestone first, and he frowned slightly and searched for the jar. He set it down on Thorin's desk, and Óin picked it up and opened it, peering inside.

"Tauriel said—uh, the healer said that we put a spoonful of this in some water and give it to him," Kíli said. "It doesn't stop dreams—apparently that's a bad thing—but it will ease his mind or something so that he doesn't have  _bad_  dreams."

"Does it work?" Óin said skeptically, screwing the lid back on the jar and setting it down.

Kíli shrugged. "It's worth a shot," he said. "It's better than what you lot tried."

Thorin looked up at Kíli sharply. "We did what we thought was best," he said. "And  _you_  were not there to help, so we didn't know what—"

"You have known him even longer than I have," Kíli snapped. "Both of you. You  _should_  have known." He sighed and closed his eyes. He didn't want to have this conversation again—it wouldn't change anything. "But we have this now, and I think we should try to give it to him. And by  _we_ , I mean  _me_."

"Now, Kíli," said Óin, "you don't need to keep us out."

" _Apparently_ , I do," Kíli said, casting a glare at Óin. "And I  _will_.  _I_  will tell Fíli about this, and  _I_  will convince him to take it." He turned back to his uncle. "I just wanted to let you know what I had gotten… but Fíli trusts me. I don't know how much I can say for the two of you at this point."

Thorin and Óin exchanged looks, and Thorin let out a sigh and waved his hand in dismissal.

"Fine," he said. "You can deal with this alone, if that is your wish. But he will not avoid our presence for the time being. We are having dinner with the Company and Dáin in half an hour—let your brother know."

Pleased that he had gotten his way, Kíli nodded and took the jar off Thorin's desk. It clinked against his runestone when he dropped it into his pocket; with a slight frown, he bowed and took his leave, heading for Fíli's room. He reached his destination quickly and knocked twice on the stone door.

"Fee, it's me," he called. "I'm coming in."

He opened the door to find Fíli and Bifur still working on their whittling; Bifur had a figurine beside him and another in his hand, and Fíli was still working on his first. When Kíli entered, the two of them looked up at him. Bifur grunted and gave his typical wide-eyed stare, brandishing the piece in his hand, and Fíli smiled cheerfully in greeting. Kíli crossed the room and looked at the piece beside Bifur: a little figure that looked very familiar. Kíli picked it up and smiled broadly.

"Is this Bilbo, Bifur?" he said.

Bifur nodded and reached up, closing Kíli's fingers around the figure.  _For you_ , he signed.

"Thank you," Kíli said, touched. They all missed their little burglar quite a bit, but Kíli felt that he missed him more fiercely than some of the others. He gently slipped the figurine into his empty pocket to keep it safe.

"The Company is having a dinner together tonight with Dáin," he said to Bifur. "We should all get ready."

Bifur pocketed his current piece and his knife and rose, patting Kíli on the shoulder as he saw himself out. Kíli looked at the wood shavings on the floor with a sigh and then turned his attention to Fíli, who was still working on his own little piece.

"Hello, brother," he said, sitting down beside him. "What are you making?"

Fíli held out the carving in his hand for Kíli to see. It was only half-formed—Bifur had far more experience with whittling than Fíli—but Kíli could see the head of a Dwarf forming. He smiled.

"Anyone in particular?" he asked.

Fíli shrugged and set it down on the bedside table, brushing the wood shavings off his lap. He twirled the knife expertly a few times before setting it down as well, and then he turned his gaze to his little brother. To Kíli's relief, the agony seemed to have disappeared from his brother's face, replaced by a cheerful disposition—for however long that would last. Still, he was grateful for it.

"Thorin sent me to get you," he said. "Like I said to Bifur—we're all to have a dinner together tonight."

Fíli's hands immediately went up to his hair. Kíli chuckled.

"I'll help you with your braids, if you like," he said.

Fíli let his hands down and grinned sheepishly. Of all the Dwarves Kíli knew, the only ones who seemed to care more about how neat their hair looked were Dori and Nori. At least Fíli's preferred hairstyle was nowhere near as complicated as theirs—they would have to miss dinner to achieve that level of meticulous braiding. Fíli dropped his hands, and Kíli unclasped the metal beads holding his messy braids together; he ran his fingers through them and separated out three pieces for a new braid. Fíli sat silently as Kíli worked, and Kíli bit his lip. He did this for Fíli sometimes, but they always talked while he braided.

"Hey, Fíli, I've got a question," he said—not that he expected much in the way of an answer.

Fíli turned his head ever so slightly, careful not to disturb Kíli's work.

"Do you think I have… angry eyebrows?"

A loud chortle escaped from Fíli's mouth. Kíli dropped the braid he had been working on and frowned, and Fíli turned to look at him, covering his lips with his hand.

"I don't look angry all the time, do I?" Kíli said. "I'm not angry. It's just my face."

Though Fíli's hand was still covering his mouth, Kíli could tell by the way his face was twitching that he was hiding a grin—not to mention the fact that his chest was bouncing. Kíli furrowed his brow and pouted, though a voice in the back of his head told him that it would only further Tauriel's point. Sure enough, Fíli's laughter became even louder, his shoulders shaking as he bowed his head, and Kíli's pout grew fiercer.

"Stop laughing at me," he grumbled, though the sound of Fíli laughing was chipping away at his self-absorbed misery. Even if it wasn't speech, it was something.

Fíli rested a hand on Kíli's arm, his laughter ceasing; then he chanced a look at Kíli's face only to double over again. Kíli sat and waited for his brother to finish laughing at his expense, unamused. After what felt like forever, Fíli finally calmed down, wiping tears from his eyes. He looked up at Kíli and patted his arm, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth and affection. He opened his mouth as if to speak, and Kíli's heart jumped; but then a shadow seemed to pass over Fíli's face, and he pressed his lips together, the laughter fading from his eyes.

"It's fine, Fee," Kíli said quickly, fighting to hide his disappointment. "You don't—you don't have to say anything." He looked down at his lap. "Hearing you laugh is enough."

Fíli's hand moved from Kíli's arm to his shoulder, and Kíli looked up and met his brother's shining eyes. There was sorrow there, but there was also something more—a question, one that his brother wanted to ask but could not make come from his lips. Kíli knew that look; his brother wanted to know if he was all right. He struggled for the right words to say.

"I'm fine," he said lightly, but it didn't feel right, and Fíli did not look satisfied. He bit his lip, fighting against the words that wanted to escape him. But he lost, and words were tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"I wish you would talk to me," he said. "Everything is so  _new_  here—it's all so  _different_ , and I—I don't know what I'm doing, Fíli. I'm trying to get used to this… this new life, these new people, this new position, and I know I'm not alone—I have you and I have Uncle and Balin and everyone else—but  _nothing_  is the same. I feel like I'm far underground without a light, and I just want to be able to  _talk_  to you and have you  _talk_  back and I want everything to be like it was before, you and me and not a care in the world, and nothing is  _like_  that anymore, I—"

He stopped and bowed his head, taking controlled breaths through his nose and fighting the tears that built in his eyes. He hadn't meant to say so much. Fíli's hand did not leave his shoulder, and when Kíli looked up, his brother was staring at him, his brows drawn apart and a deep frown upon his lips. His eyes were apologetic and sorrowful as he reached up and pulled Kíli's face towards his own, leaning forward until their temples touched. Kíli took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes for a few moments.

 _I'm still here for you._  That was what Fíli was saying. Kíli did not have his brother's words, but he still had his brother.

* * *

The Company of Thorin Oakenshield and Lord Dáin of the Iron Hills were all finally gathered, and the noise of all of them together was incredible. Kíli could barely hear himself think. Not that he minded much; it was the first time everyone had come together for a good meal at a proper table since they had reclaimed Erebor, and the joviality the Company displayed reminded Kíli of another dinner, over a year ago now, at a dearly-missed Hobbit's home. Kíli smiled, recalling poor Bilbo's face when he and Fíli had turned up at the door, and cringing a little as he remembered that he had called Bilbo  _Mister Boggins_. Fíli had corrected him later that night, and Kíli was sure that Bilbo remembered the unintentional slight, though he had never said anything.

"What are you smiling about, Kíli?" said Bofur from his right over the din.

"Oh, just missing Bilbo," Kíli replied. "We haven't had a meal quite like this since we met him, have we?"

Bofur smiled fondly. "We'll have to visit him someday," he said. "He did say not to bother knocking."

Kíli chuckled. "Can't wait to see his face when we take him seriously on that offer."

"Thorin!" called Dáin from the other end of the table. All eyes turned at the sound of his commanding, accented voice. "Tell me, did ye keep count of how many orcs ye killed in the battle? I got forty even, meself."

Kíli looked across the table to Fíli and then to Thorin on his right, his heart missing a beat. This was not the best topic of conversation right now. Thorin glanced at Fíli as well before giving his calm answer.

"I did not keep track," he said. "I killed Azog—that one kill is enough to remember for me."

Kíli looked back at Fíli at the mention of Azog's name. His brother was staring down at his plate, but he did not appear to be very interested in eating.

"Oh, that's very noble," said Dáin, "but I can't compete with ye there. Come on, didn't anyone keep track? Kíli?"

Kíli twisted his lips and turned his gaze from Fíli to Dáin. He shook his head. "I killed a pretty big orc, myself." He gestured to Glóin. "I bet Glóin kept track, though."

"Thirty-seven," Glóin said proudly, leaning back in his chair.

Dáin nodded in approval and looked around the table at the other Dwarves, but no one else offered a number. Dáin's eyes settled on Fíli, and Kíli's heart sank. He tried to think quickly of a way to change the topic, but he wasn't quick enough.

"What about you, Fíli? Did ye at least match your brother and your uncle with a giant orc of your own?"

Fíli looked up suddenly with wide eyes. The table was silent. Kíli and Thorin exchanged glances as the silence grew.

"Fíli didn't keep track, either," Kíli said quickly. "I saw him take down a decent number, though."

"Oh, come on, Fíli, nothing to say for yourself?" said Dáin. "Nothing noteworthy at all?"

Fíli opened and closed his mouth, looking from Dáin to Thorin desperately. Balin laid a hand on Fíli's arm as the blond swallowed.

"Fíli hasn't had much to say lately, Dáin," Thorin said, keeping his voice level. "He acted nobly in battle, I assure you."

Fíli flinched hard at this comment, and Kíli watched him carefully, tensing. Balin's grip tightened on Fíli's arm. He murmured something that Kíli could not hear, close as he was, but Fíli did not appear to be comforted.

"Hasn't had much to say?" said Dáin loudly. "Well, laddie, when are ye gonna give us a piece of your mind? You're the prince of this mountain, after all!"

"Dáin," Thorin warned, but his warning came too late. Fíli ripped his arm out of Balin's grip and rose, limping to his crutches and leaving the room as quickly as he was able. Kíli rose from his seat as well.

"Kíli," said Thorin. "Sit."

With an incredulous look at his uncle, Kíli sat heavily in his seat, his heart pounding. Fíli was gone, and the room was dead silent. Fighting for an appearance of normality in front of the others, Kíli picked up his wine glass and took a sip, but he could not stop the wave of frustration that crashed over him. Before he could stop himself, he threw his glass, and it shattered against the far wall, red dripping down the green marble.

Nobody else moved. Kíli fumed, staring down at the table. The silence grew heavy like a fog from the South.

"Let him go, Thorin," said Dáin, his voice softer now. He turned his apologetic gaze to Kíli. "I didn't realize what ye lads meant—that it was a serious thing. Tell him I didn't mean to rile him up, will ye?"

"Thank you, Dáin," Kíli said softly. He looked from Dáin to Thorin, waiting for permission to leave, and Thorin sighed and nodded. Immediately, Kíli rose, nearly knocking his chair over, and bolted out of the dining room. Fíli was still visible far down the long corridor; as Kíli ran to catch up, Fíli stumbled and crashed into the wall. Instead of regaining his footing, Fíli leaned heavily into it and dropped his crutches, sliding to the floor with his head in his hands. Kíli knelt down beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder, but Fíli pulled out of Kíli's grip.

"It's just me, Fíli," he said, but Fíli did not look up. Instead, he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and took a tearful breath. Kíli tentatively reached out for his shoulder again, and this time, Fíli did not pull away.

"Dáin says he's sorry," Kíli said. "He didn't… he didn't realize."

Fíli let out a huff and bowed his head even lower; his right leg slid down flat against the floor, the plaster clunking against the marble. Kíli looked left and right down the corridor. No one was here now, but that didn't mean that nobody was nearby.

"We can't stay here," he said. "Come on, let's get to your room. No one will bother you there."

Fíli nodded and held out shaking hands, and Kíli pulled him up, making sure that he was balanced against the wall before reaching down for his crutches. They slowly made their way towards Fíli's chambers in silence; when they got inside, Kíli took Fíli's crutches, and Fíli sat down on the bed with a strained groan, pressing a hand against his side where the crutch had rubbed against him.

Kíli sighed and studied his brother carefully. Though Fíli was clearly attempting to look as if he were fine, his eyes were half-lidded, and his hands had not stopped shaking. Kíli's hand drifted into his pocket, where the jar of powder sat waiting. Now was the time, he supposed.

"Fíli," he said, "I… I went to see the Elves today."

Fíli cast his brother a suspicious glance, and Kíli swallowed. He had seen that same look on the shores of the Long Lake, when he had given his runestone to Tauriel—the one that now sat in his pocket—and Fíli and Bofur and Óin all waited on him to start on their way to Erebor and see if their kin were still alive.

"It was after what Thorin and Óin did," he explained. "I didn't want them to do that to you again, and I thought the Elves might have something we don't that could help you—something to help you sleep. And they did."

Fíli's eyes grew wide as betrayal swept over his countenance, and Kíli's heart dropped. He pulled his hand from his pocket and put both hands in the air.

"I won't make you do anything," he said quickly. "I promise, I won't. But listen, please, Fíli. It's different than a sleeping draught. It won't make you sleep—it just stops bad dreams. So you can rest without seeing… well, whatever it is you're dreaming about. That's what Tauriel said."

Fíli still looked dubious, especially after the mention of Tauriel's name. Kíli rolled his eyes and sighed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out both the jar and the runestone.

"First of all,  _here_  is the runestone I gave her," he said. "She gave it back." He swallowed before a lump could develop in his throat and shoved the stone back into his pocket. "And  _here_  is the medicine she gave me for you. We just put a spoonful in water and you drink it. She said it might make you a little… loose in the limbs, maybe a little disoriented, but it will ease your sleep. You want to sleep, don't you? Peacefully?"

Sighing, Fíli eyed the jar; Kíli could see the desire in his eyes, but he knew that his brother would never completely trust the Elves, even after Tauriel had saved both of their lives. She was an exception to the typical Elf, but even so, she was a hindrance to Kíli. Fíli had never said as much, but his actions had made that clear.

"Do you want to try it?" he said impatiently, wishing once again that Fíli would just  _talk_. "If it makes you feel better, I'll stay with you—make sure it's working, wake you up if it's not."

After a few moments of thought, Fíli finally assented with a dismissive wave. Kíli fought to hide a victorious grin.

"All right, well, do you want to try it now?" he said.

Fíli's previous distrustful look rose again, this time tinged with panic. Kíli frowned.

"I said I'd stay with you," he said. "You don't have to be afraid. I  _know_  you're tired, Fee—please just try this. You know you're feeling worse. We can all see it. You  _need_  to rest, and if this can help, why delay it?"

Though he still looked unsure, Fíli nodded. Kíli set down the jar and set off to fetch a cup of water and a spoon. Fíli had changed into bedclothes when he returned and was sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall. He yawned and looked up at his little brother.

"All right, let's try this," Kíli mumbled, opening the jar. He dropped a spoonful of powder into the water; it swirled and disappeared, leaving the water slightly cloudy, but there was no odor. Better than one of Óin's already. He handed the cup to Fíli; his brother stared at the concoction for a moment and then took a careful sip.

"You're probably supposed to drink all of it," Kíli said, giving his brother a cheeky grin.

Fíli shot him a disgruntled look and drank some more. Kíli pulled over a chair and sat by the bedside, waiting; he wished he could make conversation, but it would only be one-sided. Instead, he sat in silence. Fíli finished drinking and handed the cup to Kíli, who set it on the bedside table. Fíli slid under his covers and waited, staring out into nothing; already there was an obvious change in his demeanor. His eyes seemed glassy, and his gaze was distant—not that it was often focused these days. At first, he seemed content, but as the silent minutes passed, that look soon faded away.

To Kíli's dismay, a look of fear was rising in Fíli's eyes: the same look he had when Kíli had found him alone and confused on the level below Azog at Ravenhill—where the pale orc had dropped him after Bilbo's expertly-aimed rock. The same look that had continued when Kíli dragged him to a safe place and fought to defend him. It had remained on Fíli's face even when Kíli and Tauriel had carried him to safety, when the healers had tried to set his leg, all the way up to the point when an Elf had come with something—Kíli did not know what it was—to sedate him. It was a blind panic, unaware of what was going on or if it was safe.

Suddenly Kíli realized how  _stupid_  he had been. With everything that had happened, why would Fíli feel safe if his faculties were impaired? He reached out to take Fíli's hand and squeezed, hoping the physical touch would comfort him. Fíli squeezed back, but the fear did not leave his eyes. He slowly started to shake his head, his gaze latching onto Kíli's desperately. Suddenly he pushed his free hand into the mattress and sat up. Kíli let go of his hand and grabbed his shoulders, pushing him back down.

"Whoa, it's all right," he said. "Tauriel said it would make you feel funny, but you're fine. I promise. Rest now. You're safe."

Fíli pushed himself up again, only to be pushed back down by Kíli. A frightened, high sound left his lips; Kíli could not tell if it was simply a gasp or if his brother was saying the word  _no_. He let go, and Fíli sat up, leaning back against the headboard and shaking his head. Kíli hopped up onto the bed and sat next to his brother, and Fíli turned his head loosely in his direction, leaning into him suddenly, as if he had forgotten how to sit upright.

"It  _will_  work, Fíli," Kíli said. "I know you don't trust them—the Elves—but look what Tauriel did for my leg… and  _she_  gave me this medicine. I'm  _sure_  you won't have nightmares if you just let yourself fall asleep. You know you need to."

Fíli nodded, wavering from side to side, but he did not lie back down. His hands lay limply in his lap. Tauriel was right—it really  _did_  make it difficult to control movement. What was the point of taking it if you weren't about to sleep?

"Fee, lie down," Kíli said. "I'll be right here. I promise."

Fíli still looked afraid, but he cast Kíli a trusting glance and slid back down, resting his head against his pillow. Kíli moved back to his chair and sat waiting. At first, Fíli kept forcing his eyes open, though they were clearly trying to close on their own. But after a while, Fíli's resolve to stay awake melted away, and his eyes opened less and less; finally, they stayed closed, and Fíli's breathing became slow and steady, his face peaceful.

Kíli's heart ached. He was confident that the medicine would work—Elves were supposed to be wise, after all, and they were usually quite old, which  _must_  have given them plenty of time to perfect their medicines. But he hated that it had come to this to get his brother to agree to sleep. He took his slumbering brother's hand and sighed sadly.

Whatever measures they had to take were fine by him. Fíli would get better now. He  _had_  to. And maybe, in time, he would speak.


	5. Scream

"Thorin?"

At first, Thorin did not reply. He sat with his head in his hands, avoiding the burning gazes of his companions, both grieved and embarrassed. Would Fíli ever speak again? Would Thorin ever be able to come before his companions without his kingly presence and authority being challenged by his youngest nephew?

"Thorin, it's all right. We here pass no judgment."

Thorin looked up at Balin and smiled sadly. He knew that his companions would follow him no matter what; the past weeks—no, the past years—should have told him that.

"I know, Balin," he said. He looked around the table at the forlorn faces of his Company. They were all concerned for Fíli, he knew, and they were all loyal enough to keep this trouble to themselves. But there were others to worry about inside the Mountain. His eyes turned to Dáin.

"What happened to him, Thorin?" Dáin said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Thorin shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "None of us know. He won't…" Thorin gestured towards the door. "This is all he does."

"Azog got a hold of him, didn't he?"

"Aye," said Thorin. He closed his eyes, wincing at the memory of Fíli being dragged out and brandished before him, a trophy, another one of his family to be killed by the pale orc. The look on Fíli's face then told him that something had happened back in that fort, but what, they never found out—Azog had dropped Fíli, thanks to Bilbo, before he had been able to say anything, and he had not uttered a word since.

"His leg was broken—we know that, obviously," said Dwalin. "What that  _monster_  must have done to the lad… I'm sure that's shameful enough already for him. Dwarf bones aren't supposed to break."

"But there must be something more," Thorin said, turning to Dwalin now. "Dwalin, you saw him… he didn't fight. He didn't even struggle. Why?"

Dwalin shook his head. "I cannot say any more than you can."

Thorin ran a hand through his hair and sighed again, looking around the table.

"I know that you would all protect Fíli as much as you were able," he said, "and this is a time when I need you to do your utmost. We all know Fíli is normally capable and level-headed, and I believe that in time, he will get better. Until then, we cannot give others in the mountain reason to doubt that he is fit to one day rule in my stead. We must keep him safe from prying eyes and doubting hearts."

A series of nods and  _aye_ s came from around the table—even from Dáin, who stood and looked seriously at Thorin from across the table.

"You have my word, cousin, that I will keep my men in line as much as I can while they are in this mountain," he said. "You are my kin and you are my king."

"Thank you, Dáin," said Thorin, nodding gratefully. He raised his glass, and Dáin and the others did the same, and then they all drank together. The promise was made. They continued with their meal, though it felt quiet and empty without two cheerful young Dwarves sitting on Thorin's left and right.

* * *

Six weeks had passed inside the mountain, and Fíli still had not spoken—his demeanor had improved since he had regained ability to sleep comfortably and quietly, and he had found many ways to be helpful, but they had yet to hear a word pass his lips. The occasional laughter, perhaps, but never a word. But there was a reason for joy today. Óin had determined that Fíli's leg was healed enough to remove the cast.

They had kept the number of people in the room to a minimum so as to make sure Fíli was as comfortable as possible—just himself, Óin, and Dwalin. The only way to get the cast off his leg was to saw through the plaster, and though Thorin trusted Óin, he worried about how Fíli would react to being forced to stay completely still as a huge, serrated blade moved closer and closer to his skin, and the fewer people crowding Fíli (or witnessing his reaction), the better. Kíli had wanted to be there, but Thorin had told him no, as he tended to get overzealous about his brother's care when things got hairy. He was surely off pouting somewhere, but at least he had obeyed.

Everything was in place. Fíli lay on a cot in the middle of his room with his right trouser leg rolled up to his knee to expose the cast; a cloth was laid out beneath the cot the catch the plaster mess. Óin had his satchel of supplies at the ready, and Thorin stood by Fíli's side. Dwalin hung back by the door. He was only there in case they needed someone else to hold Fíli down, though Thorin hoped it wouldn't come to that. They were ready. Even Fíli seemed calm.

"All right, lad, here's what we're going to do," said Óin. "Only the outside needs to be cut through—we padded your leg quite a bit before we put plaster over it. So don't worry about the saw… it won't get close enough to your leg to cut it." He pulled the saw out of his satchel; it was big, and Fíli's eyes widened. Thorin laid a hand gently on his arm.

"Don't worry, Fíli," he said. "You know that we Dwarves are excellent at careful crafts with our hands. This is no different. Óin won't get your leg."

Fíli relaxed a little and nodded.

Óin continued, "We're going to take the cast off and then wash your leg, and then you'll be set, lad. But while I'm working, I need you to lie  _absolutely still_. Can you do that? Are you ready?"

Fíli nodded, and Óin set the saw to the cast and started sawing away. Fíli tensed and bit his lip, and Thorin gently squeezed his arm; Fíli jumped, and Óin stopped, casting a glance from Fíli to Thorin.

" _Absolutely still_ , Fíli," he repeated. "Thorin, just put a hand on his leg, will you?"

Thorin obediently pressed down on Fíli's right leg, and Óin began sawing again. When Thorin looked back to Fíli's face, he frowned; his nephew's face was tense. He was clearly trying very hard to hold it together, but Thorin knew him well enough to see the signs that he was on the very edge. His distant eyes glistened as they looked up at the ceiling, and he was breathing slowly and heavily. Thorin called his name softly, and Fíli's gaze turned to him; Thorin offered him a comforting smile.

"We're almost done," he said. "You are doing just fine."

Fíli offered a wobbly smile in return and then closed his eyes. A few moments later, Óin made it all the way through the cast, and it cracked. Fíli gasped, but Thorin's hand on his leg kept him from moving it, and Óin gently peeled away the plaster and the soft layers of padding beneath. A pale, healed leg emerged underneath, and Thorin wrinkled his nose at the smell of long–unwashed skin.

Óin motioned for Thorin to let go, and he did so immediately. Fíli let out a shuddering breath and relaxed as Óin began gently washing away the debris and dead skin, and Thorin moved closer to Fíli's head and smiled, squatting so that his face was level with his nephew's.

"You did very well," he whispered. "I'm proud of you, lad."

Fíli smiled, though a look of dismay flickered across his face. He closed his eyes for a few moments, and Thorin patted his shoulder.

"All right, lad, your leg is yours again," said Óin. "Don't scratch at the skin—it will be sensitive for a few days. And be  _very_  careful walking. You haven't used the muscles in that leg for six weeks. Don't forget that."

Fíli opened his eyes and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the cot and resting both bare feet on the ground. He reached out for help standing, and Thorin took his hands and helped him up. Though Fíli's first step on his newly-freed leg was careful, he still gasped and stumbled, and Thorin caught him and help him upright.

"Careful," he said with a chuckle. "You  _were_  listening to Óin, weren't you?"

Fíli grinned sheepishly, and Thorin swung his nephew's arm around his neck, bending a little so that he didn't pull Fíli's arm with their height difference. Fíli pulled towards the chair at his desk, and Thorin chuckled again and helped him to the seat. After he sat, Fíli attempted to stretch his leg, frowning fiercely and resting a hand on his calf.

"It's going to be stiff and sore," said Óin. "Like I said, lad—be careful."

Fíli nodded, grimacing. Óin and Dwalin set to work cleaning up the mess in the middle of the room, and after a quick glance at his nephew, Thorin joined in. Soon everything was tidied and out of the way, and Óin and Dwalin departed, leaving Thorin alone with Fíli.

Thorin leaned against Fíli's desk and watched him for a few moments as he slowly and gently rolled down his trouser leg over his newly-exposed skin. When he had finished, Thorin spoke.

"It wasn't the saw that made you nervous, was it?" he said, keeping his voice low and gentle. "It was me holding you down… being made to stay still, no way to get out."

Fíli looked up at his uncle suddenly, his brow drawn apart and his eyes wide, but as always, he said nothing. In this case, he did not need to. The look on his face was confirmation enough.

"Fíli," Thorin said, "what did he do to you?"

Fíli's lip trembled as he shook his head, casting his gaze downward. Thorin sighed, disheartened. It had been worth a try.

"Never mind, lad," he said. "You don't have to tell me now."

Fíli breathed a sigh of relief, and Thorin was silent. He wouldn't push Fíli now. He would open up one day. But Thorin was not sure how long he was willing to wait.

* * *

Silence. Thorin felt like he had gotten too much of it in the past two months, but at the same time, he relished it. No— _silence_  wasn't what he needed. What he needed was some  _peace_.

And that was what he was trying to get. It was already somewhat late, and he had told everyone to give him a mere hour to himself, to sit in his study undisturbed, warmed by the fire in the hearth and a book in his hands. He had found it dusty but untouched in his old chambers—now Fíli's—with the bookmark still in place, and he hadn't thought he could get so excited about something so simple, but he had. The book had drawn him in so many years ago, and every now and then he had thought of it, never thinking he would get the chance to read it again. But here it was, and now he was going to finish it.

The only sound right now was the crackling of the fire and the turning of pages in Thorin's book. This wing was reserved for the royal family, and though several in his Company counted as such, they were all preoccupied at the moment, taking care of business elsewhere in the mountain. He had not assigned his nephews duties, but he had a feeling they were together. Kíli seemed to think it was his personal duty to keep his brother preoccupied and happy, and if Fíli went somewhere, often Kíli followed. Of course, it had been like this since he was old enough to walk, but now the objective had changed; instead of following his brother around like an excited puppy, he hovered like a worried mother hen, at once being absolutely smothering and yet walking on eggshells. If Thorin ever found Kíli alone and pouting, it was a sure sign that his hovering had grown too much for his elder brother, and he had sent him away.

"You have to let him have time alone," Thorin had told Kíli. "You cannot always be with him."

"But he  _needs_  someone," Kíli had protested. "He's always looking off into space, Uncle, lost in his own little world… Who  _knows_  what he's thinking of? He's got to know we're there for him."

"He is well aware that you are there for him, Kíli," Thorin had replied. "But you have to give him space."

All Thorin had gotten in response was a dark look. Kíli had given his brother some breathing room for a few days, but then he had gone back to his old habits. Thorin had tried to separate them from time to time after catching a desperate look from Fíli, but he could not be there at every moment—he had his own duties to attend to. And for the time being, he was going to read his book. He sat absorbed; the long wait before coming back to this book had only increased its appeal, and it had yet to disappoint.

Voices began to filter into Thorin's awareness after a while, but he fought to ignore them. His hour was not up—it couldn't be. Whoever was in the hall would leave eventually.

"Fíli,  _please_ , just  _talk_  to me!"

Thorin furrowed his brow and lowered his book. That was Kíli's voice. He was at it again… Thorin put his bookmark in place, but he did not rise. He would only intervene if necessary.

"I just want to help you!" Kíli said, his voice wavering. "I've been waiting for  _two months_  for you to just tell me something—anything! What is stopping you? Why can't you  _tell_  me?"

For a moment, there was no sound, and Thorin wondered if Kíli had given up. Then, Kíli started shouting.

"Stop it! Every time I try to talk to you, you just run away! I'm tired of it, Fíli! Just  _tell me what's going on_!"

There was a light  _thump_  and a strange, strangled noise. Thorin dropped his book, jumping to his feet, and ran to the door. Kíli spoke again before he made it into the hall.

"Oh no, Fíli, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… Fíli…  _Fíli_ —"

Thorin burst out of his room and looked left and right down the corridor, searching for his nephews. He spotted them not far down the hall to the right, and his heart lurched. Fíli knelt on the floor, his head in his hands, bent over double; Kíli knelt beside him, reaching out nervously but not touching his brother. Thorin ran towards them.

"Kíli, what did you do?" he shouted, settling next to Fíli and peering down at his face. Fíli's mouth hung open as if he were screaming, but he made no sound. Thorin looked back up at Kíli, who stared down at his brother with wide eyes, his face pale.

"I—I just wanted him to talk to me," he said, his voice wobbling dangerously. "I didn't mean to… I didn't want this to happen…"

Thorin looked down to Fíli again. His face was turning red, and he was shaking violently; he took in a deep breath suddenly and then opened his mouth to scream again, but yet he was still silent.

"Kíli, go," he said, his voice low and even, though his heart pounded fiercely.

"But—"

"You have done  _enough_ , Kíli, now  _go_!" Thorin shouted, pointing down the corridor, and Kíli stumbled to his feet without another word and ran. Fíli suddenly cowered and let out a fearful gasp. Thorin reached out and took hold of Fíli's shoulders, but his nephew yanked out of his grip and crawled back, his eyes distant and filled with panic. Immediately Thorin held his hands up in the air and leaned back, trying to look as unthreatening as possible. Fíli leaned up against the wall and pulled his knees up to his chest; he pressed his shaking hands back against his forehead, breathing hard, and his mouth dropped open again. No sound came forth.

Thorin had a thousand questions that he knew Fíli couldn't answer. He wished with all his heart that Fíli would tell him what was wrong, but he was clearly in no state to say anything to anyone—he couldn't even scream. The more Thorin watched him, the more it seemed apparent that Fíli was  _trying_  to scream but could not make himself do it. His mind raced as he sought for a way to pull his nephew from this state.

Fíli was only getting worse by the second. He was shaking so hard that even his breaths shook, and tears ran down his face unheeded. He tried to scream again to no avail. Thorin crawled towards him as slowly as he could, saying nothing, and Fíli did not seem to notice him coming closer.

 _It's all right. You're going to get through this. You'll be okay._  Many comforting words passed through Thorin's head, but he knew saying them would be useless. Fíli had no words to offer, and he needed none. Suddenly it was clear—Fíli needed someone to meet him where he was, not where they wanted him to be.

Thorin was close enough to touch his nephew again now. Carefully, he reached out and laid a hand on Fíli's arm; Fíli did not react, and Thorin waited to see if he would. After about half a minute, Fíli suddenly noticed Thorin's touch with a startled gasp, but he did not pull away. His silent screams stopped and his hands dropped as his eyes met his uncle's; neither said a word. Thorin did not move.

Fíli opened and closed his mouth as if he were searching for words to say. After several attempts, he closed his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth, covering his face with his hands. Thorin gently laid his other hand on Fíli's other arm.

"Come here, lad," he whispered.

Fíli immediately leaned forward and pressed his face into Thorin's shirt, shuddering, and Thorin wrapped him in a protective embrace, taking care to hold him without making him feel trapped. Soon the sound of heavy sobbing resounded against Thorin's chest. He held his nephew close and stayed silent, waiting as Fíli slowly became less and less tense, though he continued to cry.

Eventually Fíli pulled himself in as close as he could, his shoulders dropping as he curled into his uncle's arms like a child. Thorin cradled him and pressed his nose into his golden hair, fighting the tears building in his eyes. He had not held Fíli like this since the lad was very small, and he had never thought he would again. His heart burned with grief and anger. What had that abominable orc done to Fíli? What was Fíli holding inside so deeply that he could not even bring himself to scream? Tears dripped into blond hair as Thorin rocked his nephew gently.  _It's all right now. You're safe now. Please tell me what happened. Please don't crumble away. I love you too much._

That was something he could say. "I love you dearly, my boy," he whispered. "Just as you are. You don't have to say a word, all right? You're alive and you're here with me. That's all I need from you. Do you hear me?"

A sound came from Fíli then as he nodded, though whether it was a sob or half of a  _yes_  was lost to Thorin. It didn't matter. Thorin pressed his nose back into Fíli's hair, waiting patiently as his golden boy let out a tempest of emotions in the only way he could. He would wait as long as he had to—for once, he had done and said the right things. For once, he had gotten it right, and he was not about to lose that ground now that he had gained it. If it was a step on the path of healing for Fíli, he would sit there for as long as it took.

And a long time it was before either of them moved. Finally Fíli's tears abated, though he stayed put for a while longer—so long that Thorin started to think that maybe he had fallen asleep. But then Fíli pulled himself up and out of his uncle's arms, looking around blearily before connecting his gaze with Thorin's. His eyes dropped, and he shifted awkwardly.

"I won't tell a soul, lad," said Thorin. Fíli's eyes snapped back up, and Thorin offered him a warm smile. He returned it halfheartedly.

"Come, let's get out of this drafty old hallway," Thorin said. "Where would you like to go?"

Fíli looked towards his room, and Thorin nodded and pulled himself up, groaning as his stiff muscles protested. He helped Fíli up and then pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it to Fíli, who accepted it gratefully and cleaned his face. Thorin didn't want to think about the state of his shirt. They walked together to Fíli's chambers, and once inside, Fíli climbed onto his bed immediately, though he did not lie down. He reached for the cup on his bedside table and looked inside, then looked up at Thorin. The cup was empty; he needed water to take the Elvish medicine, and Thorin had a feeling he wouldn't want to go get it himself—not after the episode he'd just had.

"I'll be right back," Thorin said, taking the cup from Fíli's hands. He stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind himself. As soon as the door was closed, he dropped his shoulders and leaned against the wall, running a hand down his face and sighing. His poor boy… what he would give to fix all of this right now. He looked down at the cup in his hand wearily. Well, at least he could get him a cup of water.

The nearest water pump wasn't too far, and Thorin reached it quickly, giving silent thanks that the old plumbing in Erebor had lasted this long, saving him a trip deep into the mountain, where a cold underground river ran. He pulled the lever several times, waiting for water to bubble up.

"I didn't mean for this to happen."

Kíli. Of course. Thorin filled the cup and then turned to face his younger nephew. Kíli stood rigid, but his lip quivered, and his deep brown eyes were rimmed with red. A tear slid down his cheek.

Thorin weighed his words carefully. Here was a situation in which he could not let Kíli slide by, as he often did—wrongly, he was sure. He had never been as hard on Kíli as he had on Fíli. But this time, Kíli had to know that his actions had consequences. It was time for Kíli to grow up.

"I know you didn't mean for this to happen," he said, "but it did."

Kíli flinched and bowed his head, sniffling.

"I… I do not know how long this is going to take," Thorin continued. "Whether it be today or perhaps longer—much longer—before your brother speaks again. But we have known from the beginning that pushing him does no good; only harm. You  _know_  that, Kíli. You know your brother better than anyone else."

"It's been  _two months_ , Uncle," Kíli said, looking up with pleading eyes. His voice wobbled. " _Two months_ , and he hasn't said a word. I want to help him, but all he does is push me away every time I try—it's like he's not even  _there_  anymore, like he died that day and he's just a  _ghost_ —"

"Don't you start with that now, too," Thorin said sharply. "Fíli will get better. I am sure of it. But you cannot give up hope, and you cannot push him as you have. He needs us to take him as he is, Kíli, wounds and all."

"I just miss him, is all. The way he used to be," Kíli said, wiping a tear off his cheek. Thorin furrowed his brow when he caught sight of Kíli's hand, and he reached out and pulled it towards him, inspecting it. The knuckles were bruised, and two of them were scraped raw. He looked up at Kíli inquisitively.

"I, um, punched the wall," Kíli said sheepishly, pulling his hand out of his uncle's grip. "It's fine, really…"

"Does it hurt still?" Thorin asked.

Kíli rested his uninjured hand gingerly over his wounded knuckles and nodded, pressing his lips together.

"Have Óin take a look at it," said Thorin. "You're an archer, Kíli—you can't go around damaging your hands."

"Aye, sir," Kíli whispered, avoiding his uncle's eye. He bowed respectfully and then turned to leave.

"And Kíli," Thorin called after him; Kíli stopped, but did not turn around. "Remember what I said. You are not to push him, and neither is anybody else. Make sure the others know."

Kíli bowed his head. "Aye, sir," he said again. "I will. Just… tell Fíli I'm sorry. Will you do that?"

"I will," Thorin replied, and Kíli trudged away.

Thorin looked after him plaintively, guilt stirring in his heart. He knew that Kíli loved his brother and would do anything to help him get better if he could—of course he understood that. But with Kíli's rash, impulsive nature, an emotional outburst could easily result in another episode. As much as he wanted to tell Kíli that it was all right and he was not to blame, the lad needed to understand the reality of the situation. Fíli could usually handle any outburst from his brother, but in this state, what he needed was gentleness and understanding, not the burden of caring for someone else's emotions. He clearly had enough of his own to deal with.

Thorin returned to Fíli's chambers to find his elder nephew in the same position as he had left him—leaning back against the headboard, his knees pulled up to his chest, staring out into nothing. His usual look. Thorin crossed the room and pulled the jar of Elvish medicine from the drawer of Fíli's desk. It was the third jar they had gotten from the Elves, and now that the Elves were all gone, he hoped it would be the last, lest he need to send a group to Mirkwood just to get more. He mixed a spoonful in with the water and sat down on the bed, laying a hand on Fíli's knee. Fíli blinked and looked at him, and Thorin handed him the water.

"Your brother is sorry," Thorin said as Fíli drank. "He wanted me to tell you that."

Fíli finished his water and set the cup aside, blinking tiredly and nodding. That was probably the only answer Thorin was going to get. He watched Fíli carefully, attempting to determine his current mood.

"Would you like me to go?" he said.

Fíli shook his head immediately, tipping a little to one side. Thorin reached out and caught him and pulled him back upright. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly this medicine worked. He scooted up beside Fíli and sat down, putting an arm around the young prince, and Fíli responded by resting his head lazily against Thorin's shoulder. No more words were spoken; they simply sat together, and eventually, Fíli's head dropped as his breathing became slow and even, albeit congested. Thorin smiled and rested his head on Fíli's, closing his eyes and making himself a promise.

Whatever Fíli needed, he would do his best to supply. He always had, of course, but this was different. If Fíli needed silence, he would get it; if he needed words, Thorin would speak. If all he needed was someone to sit by his side—well, Thorin could certainly do that.


	6. The Letter

_To the esteemed lady Dís, and the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains:_

_We send you greetings from Thorin II Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain. We are pleased to inform you that the Dragon Smaug has been defeated and Erebor reclaimed. Furthermore, the Arkenstone was discovered by the esteemed Burglar, Mister Bilbo Baggins of Bag End in the Shire, and it has been restored to its rightful place above the throne of the King of Durin's folk. The Raven Crown sits upon the head of Thorin King, and at his right hand stands Fíli, Crown Prince of Erebor and heir apparent._

_The Company of Thorin Oakenshield remains intact through many trials and adventures, including the terrible Battle of Five Armies before the gates of Erebor. Though the orc forces of Moria and Gundabad attempted to overtake the mountain, the alliance of the Dwarves of the Company and the army of the honored and respected Lord Dáin of the Iron Hills, together with the Elves of Mirkwood and the Men of Lake-town, pushed them back. Also present on our side were the great Eagles and the skin-changer Beorn. Many honorable Dwarves, Men, and Elves fell, and their sacrifices will be forever honored by our people._

_We invite all Dwarves of the Blue Mountains to make home with us here in our homeland as soon as you are able. There is room for all in these grand halls, and we will gladly welcome all who wish to join us and those of the Iron Hills who helped us generously in battle and wish to stay in our domain._

_May your beards grow ever longer, and may your travels be safe and speedy._

_Wishing you all the best,_

_Fíli and Kíli_

_Crown Prince and Prince of Erebor_


	7. Home

_Mum, come as quickly as you can. Something is wrong with Fíli._

Dís had lost count of how many times she had read those words. It was surely in the hundreds, if not the thousands. Each time she unfolded the note, which was now dangerously close to falling apart, she tried to find some hidden meaning, some clue as to what was wrong with her eldest, but the writing stayed the same every time. Just as vague and cryptic as the last time she had read it. _Something is wrong with Fíli_ —but what? What could have happened to her eldest that was so severe that Kíli would send a secret extra note to request her presence as soon as possible?

The official letter had not given much information, either—not the information she sought now, anyway. She had been incredibly relieved to know that her brother and her sons were all still alive, of course; six months was a lot longer than she had expected to wait to hear back from them, and she wondered what had caused such a delay. Thorin had decided to take them on secret paths, but that still didn't account for nearly three months longer than she would have expected, and she had started to think that she would never hear back at all. But then a raven had arrived with a message, both relieving her fears and increasing them.

First of all, this battle concerned her greatly. Orcs from Moria—at Erebor? She had allowed Thorin take her two sons, not even of marrying age, to reclaim a mountain with a dragon inside—well, not  _allowed_. They were both of Durin's folk, after all, and no amount of pleading could take away their iron will. But not only had they encountered a dragon—whose cause of death was a mystery to her—but the same Orcs who had taken her grandfather, her brother, and countless others of her kin had tried to take her precious boys as well. How successful had they been? They were both still alive, as the letter was written in both of their handwriting, but even that left her with a worrying question.

The letter was almost completely in Kíli's hand. Dís knew her sons; if they had both worked on this together, Fíli should have been the one to do most of the writing. He was better at this sort of thing, and both her sons knew it. So why was Kíli the one who had written it? And then with an extra note attached asking her to come as soon as she could—well, she certainly would, but she wished Kíli had said  _what_  had happened instead of just saying that something was wrong. Thousands of scenarios had already gone through her mind, but what seemed most likely to her was that something had happened to him during the battle, and now he was suffering because of it. She just wished she knew  _how_.

She had wasted no time in heading out after she got the letter, recruiting a small group to come with her. Others would come at a later time, of course, but Dís was not willing to wait. With her was Gimli—young but already nearly as competent in combat as her sons—and his mother, Ari. Also accompanying her was Flán, a blacksmith's son and one of Kíli's close friends. Of course, the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains would not hear of  _two_  Dwarf ladies, especially ones so noble as Dís and Ari, traveling with only two young, inexperienced Dwarves to protect them, so two older dwarves, Einar and Vígi—cousins of Jóli's—had volunteered to come along as well.

And now, four months after leaving the Blue Mountains, they had finally arrived. Dirty, tired, and road-weary, but they had made it. Dís marveled at the lights of Dale at dusk; she had been small, very small, the last time she had been anywhere near this mountain, and most of her memories were of fire and ruin. But now, twinkling lights of lanterns and torches smiled down on her.

"Come, lads, come and see," she had said in a hushed tone, waving Gimli and Flán over. Their faces had lit up with wonder at the sight of the beautiful city, once ruined, and now rebuilt and sparkling. But they still had further to go. After giving everyone a minute or so to marvel in the splendor of Dale, she pushed them on towards the Mountain. It was already dark, and she was ready to rest after four long months of cold and snow.

The watchmen on the wall saw them first. In the darkness, Dís could not see who was on the wall, but she had caught a glimpse of red in the torchlight, and she could make a guess—and she was right. When they reached the gates, a blur of a dwarf flew past her, crashing into Ari with a shout of joy.

"Ari! My wife! My beautiful bride!" Glóin cried out, his voice wavering with emotion. A moment later, the two of them were kissing furiously, and Gimli was groaning and turning to Flán. Just as Glóin finally stopped to breathe and greet his son, a shout sounded from the gate.

"Dís! Dís!"

Dís looked towards the gate and instantly braced herself, for Thorin was barreling towards her full speed, and it didn't look like he was going to stop. He crashed into her, almost knocking her over, and hugged her tightly. Dís laughed and hugged him back.

"Easy on a travel-weary woman!" she said, chuckling. "You'll knock me over."

"Don't care," Thorin mumbled, pressing his nose into the crook of her neck. "I missed you, Dís."

Dís smiled. "And I you," she said. "But come, let me go—show me the mountain. And where are my boys?"

Thorin pulled away, a flicker of sadness passing through his eyes. But then he grinned again and kissed her on the forehead.

"I sent Kíli to get Fíli," he said. "They should be along shortly, I am sure." He turned to the group of travelers and waved. "Come in to your new home! Especially you, lads. Come see the great halls of your fathers!"

The group was escorted inside by the crowd that had now gathered—others of the Company had come to greet the small band of newcomers, and some folk from the Iron Hills had come, as well. Dís exchanged greetings with her friends and kin with many embraces and kisses, and then she returned to her brother's side, watching Gimli and Flán experience Erebor for the very first time. They looked as if their eyes were about to fall out of their heads, so wide were they, and Dís giggled.

"I would have told you to bring more, had you waited for a return letter," Thorin said, walking beside his sister with a hand around her shoulders. "Only the six of you? Hardly safe."

"Seems to be a bit safer around these parts these days," Dís replied, gaping at the splendor that surrounded her. Thorin was silent for a minute or two, allowing her time to drink it in as they passed through the main hall.

"Better than you remember, isn't it?" he said softly.

"Aye," she breathed. "Aye, it is."

" _Mum!_ "

That was Kíli's voice. Dís looked up and searched the room for her youngest, finding him barreling towards her just as fast as her brother had. She laughed and opened her arms, and Kíli dove into them, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her in the air. Dís laughed, holding on for dear life as Kíli spun her around; then he set her down and kissed her cheek, smiling brighter than the sun.

"Oh, it's good to see you," he said. "I've wanted to talk to you  _forever_ … there's so much to tell you, we had so many adventures and I've  _got_  to tell you about Bilbo—"

"Slow down, Kíli," said Dís, chuckling. "I've only just gotten here, and I'm not going anywhere. There's plenty of time to talk about your journey." She looked over Kíli's shoulder and frowned. "Where is Fíli?"

The grin on Kíli's face suddenly dropped, and his eyes shifted to Thorin. Dís watched some silent communication between them and furrowed her brow.  _Something is wrong with Fíli._

"Well?"

Kíli looked at the others gathered around nervously, and then suddenly he resumed his previous cheery disposition.

"He's just not feeling well today," he said. "I went to fetch him, but he was asleep, and I didn't want to wake him up." His eyes moved to Thorin again. "You know how he gets."

Dís narrowed her eyes, but she did not protest; whatever was going on, she could see that her son did not want to discuss it in front of everyone.

"Say hello to the others," she said, patting him on the cheek. "They've been eager to see you."

Kíli looked beyond Dís, his eyes widening and his sunshine of a grin returning as he noticed his cousin and friend for the first time.

"Gimli! Flán!" he cried, tackling the two of them with hugs. Dís looked on with a smile and then sidled up to her brother again.

"Fíli is ill?" she said quietly.

"Not exactly," Thorin replied. "Well, yes—but no. We'll discuss that in private. Here is not the place."

"How is that an answer?" Dís said sharply. "Is he ill or not?"

Thorin wrapped an arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. "Not here, poppet," he whispered. "We will speak later. I promise."

Dís pressed her lips together and watched Kíli laugh and roughhouse with his peers, leaning into Thorin. If that was all the answer her brother and her son were going to give at the moment, she was not going to press them, no matter how badly she wanted to know—they would not change their minds. But the pain of not knowing and worry for her eldest gnawed at her insides, fighting to pull her away from the group and towards Fíli.

"Can we speak now?" she said, shifting impatiently.

Thorin sighed as he watched Kíli. "Dís, you just got here… you should at least get settled in before we talk about this…"

"You want me to get  _settled in_  before I have even seen Fíli, who is apparently so unwell that Kíli won't even wake him to greet his mother, whom he has not seen in nearly a year?  _Thorin_ …"

"All right, all right," said Thorin, pulling her away from the crowd. "Let's go now."

Dís followed her brother through the vast marble halls, leaving Kíli to his friends and family. The two were silent as they walked; Dís took in the general splendor surrounding her, amazed. She had only been ten years old when Smaug had descended upon the Mountain, and the memories she had were fuzzy and ill-formed, replaced by years of wandering and the blue-grey stone of the Blue Mountains. But as she walked through the halls, bits and pieces came back to her, fitting together the scenery and old memories.

They stopped before the stone doors to a room that Dís recognized. She looked to her brother.

"This is Adad's room," she said.

"Well, it was," Thorin replied, pushing the door open. "Now it's mine."

"You didn't take Gamiladad's room?" she asked, following him into the familiar study. The furniture was still in the same place as she remembered, and she had to blink a few times before she could convince herself that she was actually there and not imagining it.

Thorin closed the door behind them and beckoned her over to the chairs by the fireplace. He sat down heavily and watched his sister take her seat with sad eyes.

"I couldn't," he said. "That room is closed and locked. No one goes there."

Dís furrowed her brow. "You couldn't?"

"I mean, I could have, had I wanted to," Thorin clarified, "but when I went in…" He shook his head. "There was gold—so much gold everywhere. Do you remember how he was, Dís, about the gold? I couldn't… I couldn't."

"I remember a little," Dís said slowly. There was more to this than Thorin was saying. She sat quietly and waited for him to continue. Thorin looked down, pressing his hand over his mouth and closing his eyes tightly.

"Thorin, what's wrong?" said Dís.

Thorin lowered his hand and looked at her with tears in his eyes.

"I was the same way," he said. "I did the same thing. It started the moment I stepped inside the mountain, Dís—the moment I saw all that gold… I lost my mind. I didn't even care about—about anything, I didn't even know if the lads were dead or alive, all I cared about was gold and the Arkenstone—"

"Whether they were dead or alive?" Dís said. "When? Thorin, what are you talking about?"

Thorin told her the story then, recounting the tale from their capture and escape from Mirkwood up until the Battle of Five Armies. Dís sat horrified and silent, one hand over her mouth, as he told her of Kíli's arrow-wound, leaving the lads behind in Lake-town, and inadvertently setting the dragon on that poor, unsuspecting town. Tears ran down Thorin's face unheeded as he told of how he had not even looked upon the town as it burned, though his nephews and Óin and Bofur were still there—how his eyes had only been on Erebor.

"I am sorry, Dís," he said, reaching out beseechingly. "I am so sorry—I promised I would keep them safe, and I lost myself to madness. I do not even deserve to ask for forgiveness."

Dís looked hard at her brother.

"Is that what is wrong with Fíli?" she asked. "Does it have something to do with that?"

Thorin's eyes widened. "No!" he said. "No, that's—Dís, what do you mean? What do you already know?"

"Nothing," Dís replied. "All I know is this." She pulled the letter out of her pocket and handed it to Thorin. As he opened it, the little note from Kíli fluttered to the ground. He picked it up and looked at it.

"Kíli sent you this?" he said, looking up at her.

Dís nodded. "I've been in the dark for four months, Thorin. You still haven't told me what is wrong with my son."

Thorin scanned the official letter from the boys and then sighed, folding it and setting it down on the table beside him.

"He won't speak," he said. "He hasn't spoken since the battle, Dís. He won't tell us what is wrong or why he is silent. Óin says he is capable of speaking, and yet he will not. He has not. He has not said a word in five months."

" _What?_ " Dís exclaimed, her heart dropping down into her stomach. "Five  _months_ , and he has not communicated with anyone?"

"Well, every once in a while he'll sign something if an answer is needed, but he doesn't  _talk_  about things," Thorin replied. "If we ask him what is bothering him, he panics and runs away. At first, we tried to get it out of him, but it only makes him worse… Three months ago, he had a complete meltdown… I've never seen him like that, Dís. It was like he was trying to scream and he couldn't."

"Durin's beard," Dís whispered. She could feel tears building in the corners of her eyes. Her poor boy… what had happened to him?

"Ever since, I have told everyone not to press him, that he will speak when he feels he can. But it's been a long time since then, and he's still like this."

"Why did he stop talking?" asked Dís. She remembered the last time Fíli had done this, when he was but a seven-year-old boy. He had not taken his father's death well, and it had taken months of love and comfort to draw him back out of his shell.

"That's what I wish I could find out," said Thorin bitterly, glaring into the flames in the hearth. He resumed his story, telling her of the battle, how Fíli had been captured by Azog and the events that unfolded thereafter. Dís could scarcely breathe. She felt as if it required all her strength just to stay in her seat and listen to the rest of the story instead of dashing out of the room to find her son. The moment Thorin finished, she rose, and her brother rose with her.

"Take me to him, Thorin," she said. "Please. Take me to him now."

"Kíli said he was asleep," Thorin said, looking beyond her to the door nervously. "He doesn't react well to being woken up… we usually just let him sleep when he has bad days."

"Bad days?" asked Dís.

"He has nightmares," Thorin explained. "And night terrors, too. We have an Elvish medicine that stops them, but he doesn't take it every night… He used to, but now he takes it if a bad dream wakes him. And then he sleeps for most of the day and shuts himself away for the rest."

Dís frowned. "How often does he have bad days?"

"Less now," said Thorin, "but still often. Once or twice a week."

Dís frowned. She had waited so long to see her sons again, and now that she was here, she could not see her eldest. Her heart was pulling her to Fíli, but she did not want to make him worse, either. She bit her lip and looked up at her brother, who stepped towards her and wrapped her in a hug.

"I'm so sorry, poppet," he whispered in her ear. "I failed you."

Dís took a deep breath and held tightly to Thorin.

"He's alive," she said. "That is what is important. I will have to thank that Master Baggins."

"We will visit him someday," Thorin said. "You must meet him. He is an excellent fellow."

A knock came at the door then, and Thorin and Dís separated as Kíli's voice sounded from the other side.

"It's me—can I come in?"

"Yes, come in, Kíli," Thorin called.

The door opened, and Kíli stepped in and closed the door behind himself. He strode forward and embraced his mother again.

"I missed you so much," he mumbled. "I was hoping you'd come as soon as you got our letter."

"Well, how could I not?" said Dís. "What with your little note about Fíli…"

Kíli pulled away and looked at his mother with shining brown eyes. "Did Uncle tell you?"

Dís nodded, and Kíli swallowed and looked down at the ground.

"He still won't speak. He just sits around, staring into space… I mean, he's gotten better, but still—"

"You miss him," Dís finished, touching the side of his face gently. Kíli nodded slightly, keeping his gaze down. He sniffled.

"Come, my darling," said Dís, taking his hands in her own. "I still remember where there's a kitchen around this wing. I'll make you a cup of tea and we'll talk."

Kíli nodded, pulling her along with him towards the door. Dís smiled back at Thorin as her son practically dragged her away, and he shrugged, biting back a grin of his own. Soon they were down in the kitchen, and Dís was setting a kettle on for tea, thankfully already supplied. Her family had clearly prepared for her coming.

Dís and Kíli talked for a long while. Kíli could not say enough about Bilbo Baggins, and Dís nearly felt as if she had known him herself by the time Kíli had reached the point in his tale in which they had reached Lake-town. She would definitely have to meet this esteemed Burglar someday—though he was clearly not Dwarf-like at all, he was a sensible Hobbit, and braver than would be expected from one of their kind. Not to mention the fact that he had apparently saved Fíli's life, and Thorin's too; well, she had much to thank this kind Hobbit for.

Kíli also told her about the goings-on in the mountain after it had been reclaimed. Dáin had stayed for a few months, but he was back in the Iron Hills now, and he had taken a large part of his army back with him. Some had stayed, deciding to make Erebor their home, and some women and children had already come to meet their husbands. It was still mostly empty, however, and Kíli seemed to be thankful for it. Apparently, Fíli had made a few scenes, but few had witnessed or even heard about them. A shadow passed over his countenance every time the conversation led back to Fíli, and Dís's heart ached for her eldest. She wished she could see him, but after hearing Kíli's explanation, she understood why she should wait.

"He doesn't take well to being woken up," Kíli said. "You know how deeply he sleeps… you have to shake him pretty hard to wake him, and that frightens him. He's tried to fight me off a few times."

"Why?" Dís said, frowning.

"I don't  _know_ ," Kíli said, resting his cheek in the palm of his hand. "I mean, I can guess… he reacts pretty badly any time  _anyone_  grabs him, and Azog  _did_  drag him out, so maybe that's enough, but it just feels like there's something more to it."

"What else can you tell me about Fíli, love?" Dís said.

Kíli sighed and looked down at his mug of tea. "Well, he won't talk, and trying to make him talk only makes him panic. I don't know what he's holding back or why he has to. If you ask him a simple question he might respond with a nod or a shake of his head… if you're lucky, with some Iglishmêk, but that's all." He grimaced. "He doesn't have a problem signing 'go away' either."

Dís smiled affectionately. "Have you been hovering, Kíli?"

Kíli looked up at her, his expression comically indignant.

"I don't  _hover_!" he said. "I just… I just want to make sure he's all right. That's all."

"You hover," Dís said resolutely. "You can be quite the worrywart, for someone who is usually so reckless."

Kíli scowled even harder. "I'm not…"

Dís raised an eyebrow, and Kíli deflated.

"All right, maybe I am a little reckless," he muttered.

"A little?" Dís said, a grin sneaking onto her face.

"I'm not dead, am I?" Kíli said, affronted. "Honestly, mother, give me some credit, eh?"

"All right, I'll give you that much," Dís conceded. "Though I'd like to ask how you got that scar down the side of your face…"

Kíli slapped a hand over his left cheek. "The orc was going to stab me in the heart!" he said defensively. "You should be glad he missed. Besides, it looks tough."

Dís chuckled.  _Tough._  He may have been seventy-eight years old, but he was still a lad in some ways.

"I am glad you are alive, Kíli," she said. "I worried about you… I worried about all of you. But especially you and Fíli."

Kíli huffed softly. "Well, I came through all right, but I'm still worried about Fíli. I'll admit that."

"I want to see him as soon as I can tomorrow," said Dís. "Who knows? A bit of love from his old Mum might help him."

"I think it will," said Kíli. "There's something he's holding back… maybe he'll open up to you. I hope that he does."

"Aye," said Dís. The two of them fell silent as Kíli finished his tea and Dís became lost in thought. She hoped that she could help Fíli; when this had happened so many years ago, she had done nothing but show him the love he always did, even if he would not speak. That was what she would do now. She would not pressure him—only love him as always. Maybe then he would open up. Maybe then he could be the Fíli she knew he wanted to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for Flán goes to my lovely friend Nalbal. If you want to know more about him (which you do), check out her fic The Mark of Gideon on fanfiction.net. There is much to love.


	8. Brave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we begin, I'd like to lay anyone's worries to rest. The only trigger warning you could possibly put on this is violence, so wherever your mind is wandering, reel it in a little.

Dís awoke late the next morning. It had been a long, hard journey, and it had required quite a bit of willpower to force herself to get up at all, especially with the new, soft mattress her brother had put in her old bedroom. The only thing that had pulled her from her bed was her need to see Fíli.

The problem with that, though, was that she had no idea where he was. Her guess was that if Thorin had taken their father's room, Fíli would have taken Thorin's old room. After she had dressed, she headed that way, her feet taking her on a route memorized many years ago; she still remembered many nights in which she had padded down this hall with little bare feet—she had been much smaller then—to be with her big brother after a bad dream, or to see if he would play with her and Frerin early in the morning. Frerin had always been the more fun brother, but Thorin had always been the one that made her feel safe.

The door was open a crack, and she pushed it gently and peered inside. This was definitely Fíli's room—she could see some of his things scattered throughout, including an impressive collection of Erebor knives on the dresser. She smiled; some things never changed. But Fíli was not there. She stepped out of the room and made her way down the corridor to Thorin's room and knocked on the door.

"Thorin, are you in there?" she called.

"Come in, Dís," came her brother's voice from the other side. She stepped in, and Thorin looked up from his desk and smiled at her.

"Did you just wake up?" he said. "It's late."

Dís scoffed and sat down across from him. "I have been on the road for four months, and I will sleep as late as I please."

"Fair enough," said Thorin with an affectionate grin. "And what are you going to do with your first day in Erebor?"

"Find my son," Dís said. "I just looked in his room, but he isn't there."

"He woke up not too long ago," Thorin said. "I believe he's with Kíli having breakfast."

"But he slept all day yesterday," Dís said, furrowing her brow. "Shouldn't he have risen early?"

Thorin shrugged and sighed. "I'm not sure that is how it works with him these days."

Dís looked her brother in the eye, her insides stirring with disquiet. There was grief in his eyes as he looked back at her.

"Is it really so bad?" she asked quietly.

Thorin leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath; he looked at her carefully, as if he were measuring his words before he spoke them.

"Dís, I have never seen him worse," he said. "I mean, he was worse directly after the battle, and he has improved in some ways… but I thought that leaving him be would get him to open up—to talk. But he has been just as closed off as ever, and I… I fear for him. I'm afraid he won't come out of this. He is my heir. He cannot stay like this."

"What are you saying?" Dís asked, narrowing her eyes.

"If Fíli is so… damaged," Thorin said, "I may have to name Kíli as heir instead."

"Thorin!" Dís cried, a wave of anger rising in her. "How could you say such a thing?"

"I have a kingdom to think of, Dís," said Thorin firmly. "This isn't a little settlement of exiles in the Blue Mountains. This is a true  _kingdom_  now, like our grandfather ruled over. In his current state, Fíli is not capable of ruling in my stead."

"So what are you going to do with him?" asked Dís vehemently. "Your  _damaged_  heir? Hide him away? Keep him out of sight? Treat him as if he were shameful, a stain upon the family name? Something to be thrown away, discarded when it is no longer of use?"

"No!" said Thorin, his eyes widening. "No, that isn't what I—"

"Hold your tongue!" said Dís, pointing a shaking finger at her brother. "You… you hold your tongue, Thorin! I won't listen to another word of this rubbish! You know Fíli as well as I do. He will come out of this. Your lack of patience  _sickens_  me." She spat the last two words at him, and he flinched, staring at her in shock.

"It has been  _five_  months, sister," Thorin said, his voice softer now. "When Jóli died, he was silent for three. Who knows how much longer this will last?"

"However long it takes should be fine by you!" Dís shouted. "I will not see him cast aside—not now, not ever! How could you even  _consider_  such a thing?"

Thorin opened his mouth to argue, but then his jaw snapped shut as a shadow passed over his features. He looked down at his desk.

"I do not wish to argue with you," he said. "Especially not when you have just arrived. But I have to think of what is best for Erebor and what is best for Fíli."

"Removing Fíli's title is not best for him," Dís spat. "You think he is doing badly now? Go ahead, heap shame upon his head in addition to everything he's already dealing with. That will surely bring him around."

Thorin buried his face in his hands. Neither he nor Dís spoke.

"I don't know what to do," said Thorin finally. "I have been  _trying_  for months to say the right words, to do the right things, but nothing I do helps. I have run out of ideas. I'm beating at the air, Dís."

"Give him more time," Dís said. "Let me try to help him. Don't give up on him yet."

Thorin nodded into his hands without looking up.

"I'm sorry, Dís," he said. "Truly, I am. For everything."

"I know," she replied. She felt cold and empty. She needed to see her son. She needed to see him with her own eyes, to touch him, to—well, not hear his voice. She supposed that would have to come later. She rose from her seat and walked around the desk to place her hands on her brother's shoulders. Thorin turned his head, still not quite looking at her, his back bent as if under a great weight.

"Just give him time," she said. "He'll come around."

"All right, poppet," he replied.

Dís let go and left the room, her stomach twisting with dread and guilt. She knew Fíli could come around—he had before—and she did not exactly regret her words, but she could see how heavily this had weighed on her brother for the past five months, and she had only served to make him feel worse. She did not wish to argue with Thorin any more than he wished to argue with her. She just wanted her family back together.

Tears sprang to her eyes then, and she leaned against the marble wall of the corridor and crossed her arms. Her family back together—that was a laugh. How could she put something back together when the pieces were all either broken or missing? She had no father, no mother, no husband, one dead brother and one consumed by years of anguish and bitterness. Her own heart had been broken so many times that she thought it must be more scar than flesh, bleeding and yet somehow still beating. And now her son, her beautiful, golden son, so like one of Durin's line and yet so much like his father, too—was he irreparably broken as well? Was he just another victim of the curse that seemed to hang over the heads of her family, waiting for the opportune time to strike?

 _No,_  she told herself, squaring her shoulders and pushing herself away from the wall. She would not let that be Fíli's fate. If she could not bring back those she had lost, she could at least make sure she would not lose one more. Her son would not fall victim to such a fate. Not her golden boy. Not her Fíli.

The royal dining room was not far, and Dís walked there slowly, fighting to regain control of her emotions. She wanted to be strong and stable for Fíli when she saw him for the first time. Who knew how he would react? Well, she had an inkling, but given all that Thorin and Kíli had told her, she was more than a little nervous to see her firstborn again. By the time she reached the dining room, she had composed herself, and she peered in, searching for her sons.

She found them at the far end of the dining room, sitting together on one end of the long table; Kíli was saying something she could not quite hear, gesturing wildly, and Fíli was smiling, though he did not look up from his food. She grinned at the sight of them and stepped further into the room.

Kíli spotted her first. He sat up in his chair, grinning brightly at her; then he looked back to Fíli, tapping him on the arm and pointing. Fíli followed his gesture, his brow furrowed, and then his eyes met Dís's.

Within a fraction of a second, Fíli was out of his chair, leaving it to clatter to the ground, and running towards his mother. She stepped forward, opening her arms, and Fíli dove at her, instantly wrapping his arms around her and shoving his face into her shoulder. Dís chuckled softly and closed her eyes, filtering the fingers of one hand through her son's soft golden waves. He breathed in and out heavily, his grip on her tightening.

"Hello, Fíli," she said softly. "I've missed you."

Fíli's only response was to press his face harder into her shoulder as he took another deep breath, this one hitching before he could let it out. Dís said nothing more. There was nothing more to say—not right now, anyway. Words could come later.

Dís opened her eyes to see Kíli standing beside them, beaming. She smiled back at him and then closed her eyes again, gently swaying her eldest from side to side. He did not seem to want to let go, and she would let him hold on as long as he felt he needed to. Kíli's footsteps drifted away until they could no longer be heard. Fíli still had not moved. His breaths were hitching more and more now, and Dís gently rubbed his back as he cried, her heart aching for him. What had he been through in the past months that merely seeing her face could bring him to tears?

After a long while, Fíli finally let go, looking up at Dís with red eyes. She smiled at him, and he offered a wan smile in return. Then he bit his lip, confliction passing through his face. Dís shook her head and then kissed him on the forehead.

"I am happy to see you, my boy," she said. "You don't need to say anything."

Fíli's lip trembled as a stray tear fell down his cheek, and then he was hugging her again, his face hidden in her hair. She held him again; she was in no hurry to go anywhere or do anything else. Fíli was her priority right now. If it helped him, she would hold him until the world's ending.

* * *

Something was certainly wrong with Fíli.

Dís had known it before she arrived, of course; Kíli's note had told her that. Then Thorin and Kíli had filled her in on the goings-on of the past months, and she had been horrified that her son could be suffering so much. But even so, the first few days in Erebor showed her that there was even more going on than that—her brother and her son had merely scratched the surface. Fíli was not just  _suffering_ ; he was  _tormented_.

It wasn't just in Fíli's silence that Dís saw this. It was as if he were a completely different person. Ever since he was a young lad, he had walked with a confident swagger, as if he knew that he owned any place he stepped into. But that was gone. Instead of walking with his shoulders back and his head high, he stooped, his head bowed, and he stepped cautiously, as if he were expecting something to come around the corner at any second. His once–sparkling eyes were now usually empty and sad, his gaze far off whenever someone was not claiming his attention—though what he thought of, no one knew. And the bad days were the worst. He locked himself in his room for hours—sometimes the entire day—and would rarely let anyone come in to see him, even if they were shouting on the other side of the door, worried sick.

Dís could not take it.

It had been a week since she had come back to Erebor, and Fíli had kept himself locked away for three of those days. According to Kíli, this was not necessarily uncommon, but it was more frequent than it had been in the past month or so. So when the fourth time came around, Dís knew something had to be done.

"Fíli, it's Mum," she called, knocking on his door. "Please let me in."

There was no reply from the other side. Dís knocked again.

"Fee," she called. "Please. We haven't seen each other in almost a year, love—don't shut me out now."

After a few moments, the door unlocked, and the door opened a crack; one red eye peered out at Dís. She smiled softly, and Fíli opened the door further and stepped aside. As soon as she was inside, he shut the door and stood awkwardly, staring down at his hands, one of which was holding the other. Suddenly Dís noticed an unnatural amount of red on his hands, and she reached forward and took them in her own. Fíli let her look; there was a decent slice on his right hand, and it was bleeding freely. She furrowed her brow and looked up at her son.

"Fíli, what happened?" she said.

Fíli pointed back towards his desk. A half-carved wooden figurine, stained with blood, sat there, a small knife set down next to it. Dís pursed her lips and sighed.

"Were you going to just sit in here and let yourself bleed, silly boy?" she said, pulling her handkerchief from her pocket and wrapping it around his injured hand. He simply shrugged, watching crimson quickly stain through the white fabric. Dís kissed his hand over the handkerchief, like she had done for her boys when they were hurt as chidren, and then looked Fíli in the eyes; a hint of a smile played on his lips.

"Come out of here, darling," she said softly. "You needn't be alone. Not now."

Fíli chewed on his lip, considering; then he held up his uninjured hand and signed  _Where?_

"Just over to the kitchen," said Dís. "I'll make you a cup of tea and make sure no one else bothers you. We'll just sit together, all right?"

Fíli finally assented with a nod, and Dís took his hand and pulled him with her to the door. Quietly, she opened the door and peered out to make sure no one was there, and then the two of them sneaked through the corridors to the kitchen, thankfully not encountering another soul. Fíli sat down at the small table, staring at the handkerchief wrapped around his hand, and Dís put a kettle on for tea. She sat down with him while she waited, checking on his hand quietly. As much as she ached for conversation, she would not let it show. She had a suspicion that the others' pressure on him to speak was part of what kept him silent, and she would not make that worse. Instead, they sat in silence, and Fíli seemed content. Eventually the water boiled, and Dís set about making two cups of tea, scooping extra sugar into both mugs—both she and Fíli had the same sweet tooth.

"I can't…"

Dís nearly dropped the spoon in her hand. It had been very quiet, but she was sure she had heard Fíli's voice. She turned to look at her son, her heart pounding. His head was in his hands, and his eyes were shut tight, his teeth clenched. Tears dripped onto the table. Dís quickly stirred the sugar into their tea and sat down with Fíli, sliding a mug over to him and remaining silent.

"I c-can't take it an-anymore," Fíli said, his voice so quiet that Dís could barely hear it. "I can't, I can't…" He trailed off, letting out a sob and bowing his head further. Dís reached out and touched his elbow, and he flinched, but he did not pull away.

"What can't you take, my love?" said Dís gently.

"Everything." The word came out in a heavy sob. "I've wanted to say something for so long, but I couldn't—I can't talk to them—I can't tell them…" He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "It's all my fault."

"Fíli, how could it be—"

"I should have  _known_!" Fíli cried, his voice cracking as he gained volume. "I should have  _seen_  that it was a trap, or—or I shouldn't have scouted out the noises I heard, I shouldn't have told Kíli that I could go it alone, I shouldn't have let myself get  _caught_  and used as  _bait_ …" He stopped and shuddered heavily.

Dís's heart sank like a stone, and yet it still pounded. Finally, Fíli was talking—but he clearly had more than this on his mind. Something else was eating away at him. She could see it.

"Fíli, what is it?" she said, keeping her voice as soft as she could.

Fíli shuddered again and shook his head frantically, pressing his lips together and breathing heavily through his nose. His breaths shook as his body trembled. Dís reached out and took his hands, pulling them away from his face and wrapping them around the mug of tea. Fíli did not pull away from her grip, but he did not look up, either—not until she touched the side of his face gently. The moment his eyes connected with hers, the words started spilling out of his mouth almost faster than he could say them.

"I was on the upper level alone," he said. "At Ravenhill. And then—and then I saw light approaching. I knew Uncle had said not to engage, I  _knew_  that, and I tried to run but they were coming from the other way, too… and then orcs were  _pouring_  in from every which way and I had no escape, and then hands were grabbing me and pulling me from every direction and the  _stench_  was unbelievable, I couldn't breathe and I couldn't move…" Fíli shuddered again, breathing raggedly, and looked at his mother with desperate eyes. "I tried, Mum, I tried to fight back, but there were so many of them, I couldn't even move my arms, and then they took all my weapons. I tried to fight back. I did."

"Of course you did," Dís whispered. She could say no more. The horror was thick in her throat.

"I tried to fight back," Fíli repeated frantically.

"I believe you, Fíli," Dís said, furrowing her brow. Fíli swallowed and nodded, bowing his head and rubbing his thumb against the mug in his hands. He shakily lifted the mug to his lips and took a sip of tea; a soft, warm smile played on his lips, and his shoulders relaxed a little.

"I missed your tea," he said.

 _I missed your voice._  Dís kept that to herself and merely smiled, watching him drink his tea in silence. He did not speak again for a while, and she did not push him. Her heart was still pounding, her mind racing. There was more to this story. That couldn't be it.

Fíli swallowed and opened and closed his mouth a few times, but he didn't say anything. A grimace crossed his face, and he looked up at Dís. Though she desperately wanted to ask him what happened, she kept quiet and merely smiled. This seemed to give him some courage, for he took a deep breath and started to speak.

"I want to tell you what happened," he said. "I—I want to, but I—it's—" He stopped and gritted his teeth, and a tear slid down his cheek. "I'm so ashamed." His voice was quiet and hoarse.

"There is nothing to be ashamed about," said Dís. She reached for his hand, but he jerked away, looking at her with wild, incredulous eyes.

"Nothing to be ashamed about?" he cried. "You don't know what happened. What he—what A-Azog did to me—what I  _let_  happen to me…"

"Fíli, what did he do to you?" Dís said, tensing.

The look Fíli gave her then made horror course through her body. His eyes were dark, his expression drawn into such disgust and shame that Dís forced herself not to think. She didn't want to imagine. Fíli looked down, and Dís looked away for a moment.

That was when she noticed Thorin. He stood in the doorway quietly, arms crossed; as soon as she saw him, he put a finger to his lips and shook his head. She nodded quickly and turned her gaze back to Fíli, hoping he would not notice his uncle. If he did, she did not know if he would continue to speak.

"A-after the orcs came," Fíli began, continuing to look down, "Azog came, and the orcs—the orcs dropped me to the ground… I tried to get up, I tried to find something to fight back with, but he—he just  _grabbed_  me by the leg and  _threw_  me, like I was a ragdoll, like I was  _nothing_ , I felt so weak and frail and  _small_ …" He dropped his face into his hands and took a shuddering breath. "And he just  _kept doing it_ , over and over, like he knew how small I was, how  _useless_  I was, that I couldn't fight back and he could just do it forever, as if I were a child's toy."

"Oh, Fíli," Dís breathed, rising from her seat and pulling a chair next to him. She wrapped one arm around his shaking shoulders, but he did not move. She stole a glance at Thorin, whose hands had dropped to his sides, his eyes wide as he stared at Fíli.

"A-and then he stopped," Fíli continued. His fingers dug into his hair and his body tensed, his voice wobbling more and more as he spoke. "I'd already hit my h-head a few times, and I couldn't see straight and I could barely stand up… and h-he forced me to m-my knees and he just  _stomped_  on my leg and it took  _everything_  within me not to scream, I w-wouldn't give him that satisfaction of hearing me scream but he kept stepping on it h-harder and  _harder_  and then it snapped—"

A harsh shudder passed through Fíli then, and a long, high-pitched whimper left his lips. He bowed his head until it touched the table, covering his head with his arms, and carried on with his soft, high keening. Dís looked helplessly at Thorin, and he jerked forward but stopped, looking unsure. Dís pressed her lips together, thinking, and then shook her head at her brother. He leaned back against the wall, looking on with a horrified expression.

"I didn't scream," Fíli said into the table. "I didn't scream, I wouldn't, it was so hard not to but I didn't, even though my leg was on fire and I was  _so_  afraid… I wouldn't let him hear me scream, him  _or_  Kíli, he would have come running if he had heard me…"

"You were brave, my love," Dís said.

"I  _wasn't_!" Fíli cried, looking up at her suddenly. "I gave up, Mum! I stopped fighting, I just gave up and  _let_  him drag me out and use me as bait, Uncle won't say anything about it but I  _know_ what he must have thought, that I was  _weak_ , that I was  _stupid_ , I shouldn't have been there at all and this never would have happened, he and Kíli would have been safe if it weren't for me—I wanted to tell him to go, to run, get out of there, and the next thing I knew I was falling and then I woke up and I had no idea what was going on, I was so  _stupid_  and  _weak_ —"

"No, Fíli," said Thorin suddenly from the door. Fíli's face melted into abject horror as he turned to look at his uncle, who was approaching quickly. He ripped himself out of Dís's arms and attempted to stand, but he tripped on the leg of the table and landed on his bottom with a  _thud_. Dís rose from her seat, but Thorin dashed forward and got to him first, kneeling beside him and holding his hands up in a signal of surrender.

"How long were you standing there?" Fíli cried. "What did you hear?"

"I heard enough," Thorin replied. "I heard quite enough. None of that is true, Fíli—I meant it when I told Dáin you fought bravely. Do you remember me saying that?"

Fíli nodded, sniffling, though his eyes were distrustful. Thorin reached out, and Fíli took his hands; they rose together, and Fíli wiped his nose on his sleeve, staring up at his uncle nervously. Thorin smiled warmly and touched their temples together for a moment.

"It's good to hear your voice, my boy," he said.

Fíli let out a tearful laugh and a half-smile, adjusting his sleeves and looking away. Gently, Thorin pulled him back to his seat; Fíli sat down, and Thorin pulled up a chair as Dís returned to her seat as well. She and Thorin watched Fíli, who kept his gaze down, still picking at the hem of his sleeve.

"I  _was_  stupid, though," he mumbled. "I shouldn't have let myself get into that situation—"

"We didn't know," Thorin interrupted. Fíli looked up at him with shining eyes. "We didn't realize it was a trap, Fíli, or I never would have sent you in there. That is not your fault."

Fíli seemed to let this statement pass him by, dropping his gaze again. He took in a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, and there was silence for a few minutes more. Then, suddenly, Fíli let out a moan and shook his head.

"Oh, I can't do this, I can't do this anymore," he said. "I-I'm so tired of feeling like this… I just want it to  _stop_ …"

"Fíli, we can help you," Dís said, reaching out and taking his hand. "Now that you can tell us—"

"You can't  _help_  with this!" Fíli cried, pulling his hand out of her grip and looking up at her incredulously. "You can't stop this feeling, this  _nightmare_ , I feel like I'm  _always_  in a nightmare, day and night, that I can't escape—and I'm supposed to be a  _warrior_ , a son of Durin, and I can't even get over this. What  _good_  am I to anybody if I can't even handle this?"

"You were attacked and tortured in battle, Fíli," said Thorin. "That is not easy to get over."

"Nobody else is like this," Fíli said tearfully. "Nobody else can't even sleep at night half the time because they're reliving the battle, can't stop thinking about it, seeing it even with their waking eyes…"

"Nobody else suffered what you did," said Thorin resolutely. "You should have told us, my lad. Is that why you have been silent this whole time?"

Fíli cringed. "I w-wanted to—I mean, I tried—I tried many times, but… I couldn't get the words out. And I think after a while I just… gave up. Nothing was changing."

"You're doing fine now," Dís pointed out.

Fíli considered this and nodded. "Well," he said, "it's… it's like… remember that cliff over the river by the south entrance to our halls in Ered Luin? The high one that Kíli and I would always jump off?"

"I told you two not to do that," said Dís, raising an eyebrow.

Fíli smiled sheepishly. "Well, we did it anyway," he said. "Sorry. But that's beside the point."

Dís chuckled softly and shook her head. "Go on."

"Sometimes when I went to jump, I just… couldn't," Fíli said. "I had done it before many times, but sometimes, looking down…" He shrugged. "No matter how hard I tried to make myself jump, my body would not obey. That's what it was like trying to say something."

"I understand," said Dís, frowning. "Well, I am glad you have finally jumped."

Fíli let free a wobbly smile and nodded. Then the smile turned into a frown, and Fíli burst into tears again and covered his face with his hands. Dís moved her chair as close as she could and pulled Fíli into a hug, and he leaned into her, pressing his forehead into the crook of her neck. Thorin rose from his seat with a sigh and looked down at Fíli sadly. He walked around the table and rested a hand on Fíli's shoulder.

"You are brave, lad," he said. "The bravest Dwarf I've ever known. I am proud of you."

Fíli's only response was to cry harder. Thorin kissed the top of his head and squeezed his shoulder; then he planted a kiss on his sister's cheek. He removed himself quietly, leaving Dís rocking her eldest in her arms as he cried.


	9. Speak

It was late at night, and the candle on Kíli's desk was burning low, but he gave no mind to sleep. He had no mind for anything, it seemed. He hadn't had an appetite all day, and when Flán had asked him to come out to the main hall and drink, he had turned him down. He felt a bit guilty about that. Flán was one of his best friends, and he had looked crestfallen when Kíli had turned him down, but Kíli was in no mood for revelry tonight. Not when Fíli was clearly getting worse.

That was how it looked, at least. Kíli had thought that their mother's arrival would have pulled Fíli out of his shell—that he would feel comfortable talking to her if he could not talk to anyone else, maybe tell her why he shut himself away so often. But instead, Fíli had remained silent, and today was the fourth day in a week that he had not answered the door when Kíli knocked, which had not happened in at least a month or two. Kíli had trudged through the rest of the day feeling quite lonely, even though he had Flán, Gimli, and Ori to keep him company. It just wasn't the same without Fíli there. It never was.

Truth be told, the past five months had been the loneliest of Kíli's entire life.

Kíli plucked idly at the strings of his fiddle, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. It was supposed to be a lively tune—and a duet—but he played it slowly, the mixture of pizzicato and a minor key making the room seem even emptier and sadder than before. After a few minutes, he sighed and set the fiddle down on top of the pile of things on his desk and stared at the flickering candle.  _That_  certainly wasn't making him feel any better.

Just as Kíli was considering trying to sleep anyway, he suddenly became aware of the creeping feeling of eyes on him. Instinctively, his eyes darted to the knife handle poking out from underneath his fiddle, but then he remembered that he was in Erebor now—anyone who could intrude upon him here was a friend, not a foe. He turned his head to see Fíli standing there, holding onto the doorframe, silent as the grave. He bit his lip, fighting the sinking weight of hopelessness that came when he saw his brother now and the guilt that rose immediately afterwards. At least he was up. At least he was out of his room.

"Hey, Fíli," he said.

Fíli opened his mouth and then closed it and twisted his lips, looking down and taking a deep breath. Then he opened his mouth again. Yet again, he closed it, this time closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against the doorframe.

Kíli sat up a little straighter in his chair and furrowed his brow. "Fíli, what is it?"

Looking back up at his brother, Fíli took another deep breath.

"Kíli," he said quietly.

Kíli sat all the way up now, his eyes widening. He tried to move, but he was frozen to his seat.

"Um," Fíli said, "can I… stay with you tonight? I-I don't want to be alone."

"Of course," Kíli said, finally pulling himself from his seat and taking great strides towards his brother. "Of course you can, of course—yes—of course."

Then he wrapped his brother in a tight hug and started to cry.

"I missed your voice," he babbled into Fíli's golden hair. "I mean, I know you were  _here_  with me, and I am grateful for that, but—"

"Kíli."

"But it's been so  _hard_ , I've wanted to talk to you about so many things and just have you talk  _back_ —"

" _Kíli_."

"And oh my, we can actually  _talk_  about things now, I've been so lonely, I mean, I know it's not your fault, but it's just been so—"

" _Blimey_ , Kíli, you'd think you would let me talk if you missed my voice so much," Fíli said, chuckling. He tightened his hold on Kíli and whispered, "I've missed talking to you, too."

Kíli let out a tearful laugh and pressed his nose against Fíli's shoulder. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to ask, just to hear his brother  _talk_ , but now he could not remember a single one of them. Instead, he just onto Fíli for a few moments longer before letting go and pulling him into the room and shutting the door behind him.

"Thanks, Kee," Fíli said, walking to the bed and sitting down. "I… I couldn't sleep." He shifted uncomfortably.

"Me neither," Kíli said, plopping down beside him.

Fíli furrowed his brow and looked at his little brother. "Why not?"

Kíli shrugged, feeling as if he shouldn't say. "I just couldn't."

" _Kíli…_ "

"All right," Kíli said, grinning despite himself. He had even missed his brother's scolding, apparently. "I was worried about you, is all."

Fíli frowned. "You worry too much," he said. Then he nudged Kíli with his elbow. "Especially for someone so reckless."

"Yeah, well," Kíli mumbled, looking down at his hands. "Mum said the same thing."

"That's because it's true."

"I had reason to, though," said Kíli. He looked Fíli in the eyes. "I thought—well, in the past week…"

Fíli sighed deeply, dropping his shoulders as his blue eyes filled with sadness. He pressed his lips together, his eyes flitting back and forth as he thought, but he did not reply. A surge of panic went through Kíli.  _Don't push him back into silence._

"But you're all right now," he said lightly. "You're speaking. You're fine."

Fíli grimaced. "I'm not, though," he said. "Speaking is easier, now that I've started again… but w-what happened—" He stopped and bowed his head. "It still happened."

"Fíli," said Kíli, but Fíli shook his head, and he stopped.

"Not tonight, little brother," Fíli whispered. "I told Mum and Thorin earlier… I can't do it again. I don't want to talk about it."

"All right," Kíli replied, feeling a little disappointed and left out. But he had waited this long—waiting a little longer wouldn't kill him. Probably. Fíli leaned his shoulder against his brother, and Kíli leaned back.

"Why couldn't  _you_  sleep?" Kíli said after a few moments, instantly kicking himself mentally as he realized what a terrible question it was.

"I felt restless," Fíli said. "And alone. I mean, I've felt alone for a while, but I've been trying to stop thinking about w-what h-happened for so long and then I finally  _talked_  about it…" He covered his face with his hands and shook his head, his breath hitching. "I know I need to sleep, but I  _hate_  using that Elvish stuff, it feels so terrible…"

"I didn't know you hated it," Kíli said.

"Well, how would you have known?" Fíli replied. "I couldn't  _tell_  you."

"You could have stopped taking it before," said Kíli.

Fíli let out a short laugh. "And then how would I tell anyone that I needed company?"

"Fair enough," said Kíli. "Well, you're here tonight… and any night hence you need company, you let me know. Or any day. Any time at all."

Fíli smiled softly. "Thanks, Kee." He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "I guess I could try to sleep now…"

Kíli nodded and hopped up to blow out the candle on his desk and turn down the lamp on his nightstand. Fíli climbed under the covers and pressed his face into the soft pillows, and Kíli quickly joined him. He heard Fíli shift in the darkness.

"I feel like a child again," he said.

"Maybe," said Kíli. "But I liked sharing a room with you. You were always right there."

"And your cold little feet were always on me in the morning," Fíli said; Kíli could hear the grin in his voice, and he made a noise of protest.

"How could my feet have been cold if I'd been in bed all night?" he argued.

"You would get up every morning, go to the bathroom, and then come back and put your cold little feet on my legs," said Fíli. "Are you denying it?"

Kíli thought back and grinned. "All right, maybe I did."

"That's right."

"But you're always grumpy when you wake up."

It was Fíli's turn to protest now. "I am  _not_  grumpy when I wake up! I'm…"

"Confused?"

"Foggy."

"Confused beyond all reason is more like it."

"Shut up, you." An elbow found Kíli's ribs in the dark. Kíli narrowed his eyes and slid a cold foot up one of Fíli's trouser legs, and Fíli yelped and pulled away. They both laughed.

They talked for a little while longer—not about anything important, just little things, but Kíli felt joy blossoming in his heart. Fíli may have said that he wasn't fine, but at the moment, he seemed to be doing a whole lot better, and Kíli would celebrate every victory, no matter how small—and this was no small victory. After so long without any change, Kíli had started to lose hope, but his brother had come through whatever had stopped him from speaking; that was certainly something to celebrate. And Kíli had no doubt in his brother's strength to make it through the rest—he was a Dwarf, after all, one of the line of Durin. Their spirits could not be quenched forever.

* * *

But, it seemed, their spirits could be dimmed—at least for a little while.

It was the sound of heavy breathing and the touch of Fíli's head against his shoulder that woke Kíli. He opened his eyes to the pitch darkness and furrowed his brow, listening; then, realizing what he was hearing, he pulled himself up onto his knees and quickly lit the lamp beside his bed. Then he turned to Fíli. His brother was curling into himself and gasping, but as far as Kíli could tell, he was still asleep. He took hold of Fíli's shoulder and shook him gently, his heart sinking.  _Not again._

"Fee, wake up," he said. But Fíli did not wake up. He did not even react to his brother's touch.

"Fíli!" Kíli called, raising his voice and shaking Fíli's shoulder again.

This time, Fíli reacted. He started awake and instantly swung out wildly, his hands making contact with Kíli's arms and chest. Kíli backed away and called his brother's name again, and Fíli stopped as suddenly as he had started and looked up at Kíli with wide eyes, gasping for breath.

"I'm here," Kíli said, coming closer again and resting a hand on Fíli's arm. "You're all right."

Fíli shook his head, his face crumpling, and Kíli felt a tug of fear in his heart. He needed to hear his brother's voice—he could not go back to the way it had been. Not already. Not ever.

"Can you speak?" he said timidly.

Fíli nodded, but he said nothing, pulling himself up and leaning back against the headboard. Kíli watched him and waited a few moments longer, but he simply sat there, staring out at nothing, rubbing his arm and taking carefully controlled breaths.

A desperation rose in Kíli then. He knew from the past months that he should let Fíli be, but he could not help himself. He needed to know what was going on.

"Fíli, please," he said.

Fíli turned to look at Kíli as if he were noticing him for the first time. He swallowed and looked down, closing his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Kíli," he said quietly. "I'm not used to—to talking anymore. About anything."

"You can always start now," Kíli said.

Fíli looked up at him, his brow pulled apart, and took a deep breath.

"I'll try," he said.

"Good," Kíli said, shifting so that he sat facing his brother. "Good. Well, can you tell me… what you were dreaming about?"

Fíli grimaced and pulled his knees up to his chest. "It's the same every time. It's always the same thing."

"The same dream?" said Kíli, frowning. "For months?"

"Not the same dream," Fíli replied. "But the same thing always happens… I mean, sometimes it's the same dream, but sometimes it changes—but every time, in every dream, I can't… I can't stop it, I'm helpless, I'm just  _stuck_  there—"

"Stuck where?" Kíli asked.

"It changes," Fíli mumbled, folding his arms over his knees and dropping his chin onto them. "Sometimes I'm on the battlefield… or I'm watching y-you or Thorin and I can't get to you…" He stopped and bowed his head, resting his forehead on his arms. "Wherever I am, I can't stop what's coming. I never can. I can't do anything."

Kíli furrowed his brow and tried to piece together what Fíli was saying, but the picture was not clear. Dreams were dreams, of course, and they didn't have to make sense, but still—

"Why can't you do anything?" he asked.

"Because I can't speak," Fíli said to his knees, his voice wavering. "I can never say a word, I can't even whisper, I open my mouth and  _nothing_  comes out…"

"No, in the dreams," Kíli said.

"That's what I  _mean_ ," Fíli said, raising his head to look at Kíli, his eyes shining with tears even in the low light. "Even—even in my dreams, I couldn't say a word. I just  _watch_  while you or Thorin are attacked, or when A-Azog—" He stopped and dropped his head again, shuddering. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Kíli was silent as he mulled over his brother's words.

"You've been… living a nightmare… ever since the battle," he said slowly. "That's how it feels, isn't it? It's been the same, whether you're asleep or awake."

Fíli nodded into his arms, his shoulders beginning to shake. Kíli sidled up next to his brother and wrapped his arms around his hunched-up form; Fíli did not respond, but he didn't push Kíli away, either. Kíli sought for the right words to say.

"You can speak now," he said. "That nightmare is over—well, during waking hours. I can't stop it from happening in your sleep, but at least when you're awake—I mean, I know it still causes problems when you wake, but—"

"You're doing a terrible job being comforting," Fíli said, turning his head to look at Kíli with a half-grin. Kíli grinned back.

"I'd agree with you, save for the fact that you're smiling right now."

Fíli truly grinned this time and even chuckled. He lifted his head, wiping the tears off his cheeks, and leaned back. Kíli let him go and leaned back with him.

"I'm not all right, Kíli," Fíli said. "I've gotten better… I'm having fewer nightmares, fewer flashbacks, fewer moments of panic… and I can talk now. I've… I've wanted to be able to talk to you, tell you what's wrong, for months. But I just  _couldn't_ , even when I wanted to so badly. So, yes, I  _am_  doing better—but I'm still not all right."

"But you will be," Kíli said, nudging his brother gently. "I know you will."

Fíli nodded. "Aye, I think I will," he said. "But it won't be today. It won't be tomorrow. Durin's beard, it probably won't be next week, either. But… I guess… I guess I want to say… I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Kíli said.

"For pushing you away," Fíli replied. "For being such an… an awful brother—"

"Hey, you're the best brother anyone could ever have," Kíli interrupted.

Fíli dipped his head and smiled sheepishly. "Well, I haven't been. I've been so busy trying to avoid everything wrong with me that I kept myself stuck in the middle of it. And I know you only wanted to help—even when you didn't know how."

"Is this a new epiphany, or have you been holding onto this for a while?" Kíli said, casting a sly glance Fíli's way.

Fíli's sheepish smile grew, and he shrugged. "I've always known that you always want to help," he said, "but I… I guess I don't know how to receive it." He sighed. "I don't know how to deal with any of this. I never  _expected_  to have to deal with this. So please, Kíli… just… be patient with me. That's all I ask. I know patience isn't your strong suit, but—"

"Hey!"

"You know it's true."

"All right, it is," Kíli admitted goodnaturedly. "But I'll do my best, Fee. I'm… I'm sorry, too. It's just  _hard_  wanting to help and not even knowing what is wrong."

"Well, we can talk about that soon, but not tonight," said Fíli. He yawned. "As a matter of fact, I'd like to try to sleep again…"

"Do you need the Elvish medicine?" Kíli said, starting to rise.

"No, I'd rather not," said Fíli. "I think… I think I'll be all right—as long as I've got someone with me."

"That didn't stop the nightmare before," Kíli said, furrowing his brow.

"It might not stop them, but I'll have someone to talk to when I wake up," Fíli said. "And I think that's what I'll need."

"Well, I can do that," Kíli said, taking one of Fíli's hands in his own. "We'll get through this together, brother."

"Aye," said Fíli, gripping his brother's hand tightly. "After all, we've gotten through so much together already."

"One more thing shouldn't be a problem," Kíli said. "Not for us. We're Dwarves, after all."

"Not just Dwarves," said Fíli. "We're sons of Durin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we meet again, at the end of one of my fics. I know this one probably feels a little less satisfying as an ending, but PTSD doesn't magically heal. It requires time, love, and support. Fíli's only at the beginning of that.
> 
> That said, I would like to formally introduce you to the beginning of my Everybody Lives AU. This is the first fic in an AU that will hopefully spawn many fics... after all, we have two very special Dwarf ladies to meet and five little dwarflings that need to be born... ;) For spoilers, follow me on tumblr at mistergandalf or just check my Everybody Lives AU tag! You can also find art of this AU on Mhyin's tumblr (mhyinart), as she and I have created this together along with a couple other fantastic tumblr buddies of mine. So if you're worried about this being the end, it's really not. It's actually the beginning. :D


End file.
